


break on the willow shore

by ficteer



Series: break on the willow shore [1]
Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim, Character Death, Dissociation, F/F, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Past Drug Addiction, Underage Drinking, one-sided Abe/Haruna
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 13:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 188,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2430890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficteer/pseuds/ficteer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the kind of thing you can just let go. Once you've been there, once you've been in the Drift, you can't forget it. You know. There are some things that just can't be said in words. Things stronger than love, more powerful than friendship, closer than skin on skin can ever be. Best of all, the proof that baseball can indeed save the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. denial

Abe had known the moment he’d had to put up a wall of steel during their first Drift that they would not be compatible pilots. 

He’d felt the prying of Haruna’s mind against his own, the slamming of metaphorical fists against a little steel box he’d holed up in his mind and refused to open. A box even he didn’t want to look inside, a box of emotions that had brewed and grown until he’d been forced to lock them away deep inside, a box filled to the brim with little tastes of Haruna, a glimpse of the stripe of stomach when he stretched, the feeling of his hand in Abe’s hair when he doled out praises, the sharp pattern of bruises from the Kwoon Combat Room on Abe’s skin that served as a physical reminder that  _he_  was the one getting pinned to the ground by Haruna, not anyone else. It was a box he’d locked himself and opened only in the dark single nights when he dared to reach a hand down his stomach and pretend that things would work out, that he could shut a lid on this tightly enough that sharing his mind wouldn’t be a problem.

It had lasted only a second, because Haruna was many things but he was not a shitty Jaeger pilot who would let himself get too distracted during the Neural Handshake, and then the two of them were as close to one mind two bodies that Abe could ever allow himself to be. It was not the strongest connection, but it had worked enough for them to pass the threshold to become certified partners for the Ranger program. It had worked enough to get them through the simulators for fifty nine drops and thirty nine kills. It had worked enough for him to get the clear to start thinking that maybe, just maybe they were on the path to pilot a Jaeger. 

It had all worked just enough, until the time everything didn’t.

His whole body was on fire. Every movement was sluggish and excruciating, his head coming apart at the seams as wave after wave of his partner’s agony clashed on separate wavelengths with his own. Piloting a real Jaeger was so different than piloting one in the simulation, and the fact that a real Kaiju was writhing in the waves in front of him didn’t make it any easier to relax. The hunk of metal he was combined with, 144 Sprinter, felt heavy in his veins. “Takaya, don’t drop the ball!” Haruna screeched, his voice like nails against Abe’s ears. Every step of the way Haruna had been the one swiping at air instead of the damn Kaiju, as wild and unpredictable on their first real run as he’d been in the simulator. Abe forced his eyes open, saw the Kaiju pulling itself up from the swirling ocean waves after their last attack, and felt the fear gripping his stomach cold because they needed to make this work for real,  _now_. “God damn it, calm down!” 

_(Like I’m the only one nervous)_ , Abe thought ferociously, knowing that half of the ice in his gut was all in his mind and that Haruna would hear the thought anyway, that there was no point in saying it out loud when they both felt the threat of violence against each other when they got back to the Shatterdome. Valkyrie Alpha wouldn't make it in time. It was just them. ( _Please, just this once, use all of that stupid power you used to pin me to the floor of the Kwoon Combat Room and take down this Kaiju before someone gets hurt.)_

There was an answering flicker of anger back along their mental connection, bright irritation and resentment. ( _We’re in the middle of the ocean. There’s no point in going all out when there’s no one around.)_ A flash of florescent blue in their line of view snapped them both back to the front and away from each other’s throats. Haruna’s eyes were calm, almost bored were it not for the anger towards his copilot, body lurching forward in tandem with Abe’s. Steel fingers curled around the Kaiju’s throat, gripped tight.

“Pull!” Haruna yelled, and Abe moved to the left while Haruna pulled to the right. It ached to move in separate directions, even more than it hurt to move in the same direction, because things were even harder to coordinate than they were to synchronize, and there’s another flicker of pain in the back of Abe’s head, another reminder of how much he’d fucked up doing this, but hell if he was going to die here.

Every muscle in Abe’s body moved and strained against the machine, and then there was a perfect moment of Drift, a rare moment where he and Haruna were exactly on the same page and the physical pain from operating a giant machine with a patchwork-Drift disappeared. With an unholy fountain of Kaiju blue all over their Jaeger, codename Blue Mitt collapsed back into the ocean, unmoving and limp at last. Abe exhaled, but the pain from earlier returned with full force as the Drift between him and Haruna fluctuated again, and Abe was suddenly aware of every pound of metal his mind was controlling. Every thread in his body was pulled taught, his brain aching in the confines of his skull, and then, everything went numb because there was one last thought across the Drift, ( _I opened your stupid little box)_ , and then searing fire on his veins and dizziness that almost had him puking in his helmet as he fell out of the Drift instantaneously. His skin felt burned straight off his body, and an electric shooting pain in every cell of his body almost knocked him out cold. Their Jaeger stopped in its tracks, and Abe slouched against the weight of the machinery around him as the LOCCENT crackled something and the 144 Sprinter’s controls beeped in his hazy, aching mind. “Get this idiot out of my Jaeger!” pierced through the fog, and then Abe finally let himself pass out, because any amount of oblivion would be better than this.

When he came to, he was in a spectacularly uncomfortable medical bed, probably somewhere in the medical floor. He tried to lift a hand to press to his throbbing temple, but the muscles in his arm wouldn’t cooperate. They pressed uselessly into the bed beneath them, exhausted and torn from the battle. Gritting his teeth and sweating from the simple exertion, Abe forced his arm up, then over, until his forearm crossed over his eyes and collapsed as the sob tore out of his throat and the tears streaked out of his eyes.  He’d known from the very beginning that they wouldn’t work as pilots, thought that putting everything into a little box in his head would make it okay. Stupid, foolish Abe, with his festering little crush on his copilot that had ruined everything. Stupid foolish Abe with the broken body and heart. Stupid, foolish Abe.

The door slammed open to his room and Haruna came in not too long after he woke up, arms crossed and a blank look on his face. Abe couldn’t bring himself to look Haruna in the eyes ( _little box I opened your stupid little box I opened your stupid little box I)_  and instead stared at his nose to give the impression he was making eye contact when in reality he was just as much a coward now as ever. Maybe even more so. “I told the Marshal to take us out of rotation,” Haruna said simply, as if he was telling Abe what he wanted for lunch. The same curling fury from earlier pushed him to sit up despite the lightning of pain everywhere, and this time he looked Haruna in the eyes. His fingers clutched the blanket beneath them, paling with the force of his grip. He wasn’t going to be piloting a Jaeger anymore.

“What the hell for?!”  _Say it_ , Abe thought, his teeth grinding together and nausea billowing in his stomach.  _Fucking say it to my face. Tell me how disgusting I am and then fucking leave_. 

Haruna’s face dipped into a scowl, face tilting and his hair tickling his temple at an angle Abe knew so well he could draw it. “Because you almost killed the both of us. I’m not going to die because of some moron who can’t handle the weight of a Jaeger in real combat. We’ve been Drifting half a year in simulation and you still can’t catch it.”

Before Abe knew what he was doing, his feet pressed against the cold tile of the medical room in two quick steps, and when he blinked, he had Haruna against the wall, fist tight in Haruna’s shirt and a snarl pulling tight on his face. “ _I_ almost got us killed?! How about your shitty aim, huh? If you’d just stop fucking around and take this seriously, we could take them down in half the time! Our record is so shitty because of you!”

Haruna’s face was carefully blank, his eyes falling down to the fingers clenched in his shirt. When his eyes looked back up into Abe’s, there was an icy promise in them that was a fraction of a step away from violence. “Oi. Get your hand off me.” Abe let his fist linger for one second more, shaking with his anger, before he jerked his hand back, letting the clenched hands hang useless at his thigh. Haruna left the room with a slammed door, his footsteps disappearing down the hall until all that was left was the gentle beeping of medical instruments and the soft flicker of a light that needed to be changed. Slowly, achingly, Abe turned until his back hit the wall, and he slid down, until his knees were pressed to his forehead. He hurt all over, inside and out, and the thought  _I have to get out of here I have to get out of here right now now now now now_  felt like an open ache. 

He’d known from that first drift that it wouldn’t work.

\----------

The helicopter landed with a gentle thud that pulled Abe out of his half-nap. It was too early in the morning for lunch but too late for breakfast, and he felt a slight twinge of irritation at the fact that he’d left Musashino before he could grab a bite to eat. The sun poured over the landing pad, forcing him to cup a hand over his eyes in order to see the small figure that had come forward to greet him.

“Ah, Abe-kun?” the young woman asked, looking down at a clipboard in her hands. Abe nodded once, and the girl flashed him a bright smile. “I’m Shinooka Chiyo, Marshal Momoe’s assistant. She asked me to come out here and meet you since she is busy in a meeting at the moment.”

“That’s fine,” Abe responded. He hadn’t expected any kind of grand welcoming, because even though he was a Jaeger pilot, at the moment he was one half of a pair short and without a machine to pilot. In essence, he was little better than one of the Jaeger hopefuls he knew would be staring at him wide-eyed and impressed in the halls. In their eyes, though, despite the fact that he’d only been in 144 Sprinter once, it had been a real battle and he’d taken down a Kaiju and lived to tell the tale.

Shinooka led him off the helicopter landing pad and stepped first onto the large flat elevator. Abe followed, bag hanging heavily off his shoulder as she pressed in a code that caused the door in front of them to shut. He adjusted the strap so it sat across his chest instead, then put his hands in his pockets and waited. A weightless pull of his gut and loud clanking later, they were descending into the depths of the Nishiura base. Shinooka was staring at him as subtly as she could, Abe sensed, a slight exasperated feeling coming over him as he hoped she wouldn’t be one of those annoying Ranger groupies he’d had to dodge in Musashino. Granted, they were mostly after Haruna, but still.

The elevator stopped and Shinooka stepped off, looking over her shoulder to make sure Abe was following behind. He shifted the bag on his shoulder and stepped into the large hall, looking around at the people passing by with little interest. Some looked at him, others didn’t even acknowledge his presence. It was about what he’d expected, Abe mused. He’d been as quiet about his transfer out of Musashino as possible, and even though the Nishiura Shatterdome only had two Jaegers, he had apparently managed to stay pretty well under the radar for now.

When Shinooka stopped, it was by a large door that had two soldiers standing at post on either side. She knocked, then punched in a code that had the door’s locking mechanism disengaged with a smooth click. Opening the door, she stepped to the side, allowing for Abe to enter the room first. He did, taking in the decently-sized meeting room, and then the two figures standing at the end of a long conference table. One he recognized right away: Momoe Maria, Marshal of Nishiura’s Shatterdome and ex-ace pilot of the since-decommissioned Jaeger Rubberball. The second, he gathered, was probably Shiga Tsuyoshi, the advising research officer, and the steps he took to get close enough to read a name tag confirmed his suspicion. 

“Ah, Abe-kun, welcome,” Momoe greeted, reaching a hand up to brush some of the wild strands of hair out of her face. “I’m Marshal Momoe, and this is our head research officer, Shiga-sensei, and that is my dog, Ai, sleeping in the third seat there.” Abe looked into one of the plush office chairs and saw the corgi, whose ear flicked when she heard her name being called. “I’m glad you made it here safely. I trust Shinooka introduced herself as well?”

“Yes, she did. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Abe answered, looking to Shiga before looking back to Momoe. “I appreciate you taking my transfer request as quickly as you did.”

“Well, it’s not every day that an experienced pilot asks to come, now is it?” Momoe said, though her eyes were not as flattering as her words. She was speaking objectively, Abe noted carefully. Then again, he had to remind himself just who he was talking to, and remember that she had the kind of experience that would make a pilot like him look like an infant in comparison. “Now, you can go and find your room and have Shinooka show you around, and then tomorrow morning, report to the Kwoon Combat Room at 0700 hours.”

“Kwoon Combat Room? Already?” Abe said, hesitant. Momoe nodded twice.

“We have the Striker Cleanup, of course, but we’re going to be getting a new Jaeger in about a week or so and we’ll need pilots for it. The sooner you can get a copilot and start their training, the better.” Momoe then looked over Abe’s shoulder to Shinooka, and gave her a thumb’s up. 

“Abe-kun, follow me,” Shinooka called, and with one last glance to his superior officers, Abe turned around and left the meeting room behind Shinooka. The door shut heavily behind him, the automatic lock mechanism clicking back into place, and Abe was suddenly aware of the loudness of the hall around them and just how quiet it had been in the meeting room.  _Soundproofing…?_  he thought, looking back at the door and the two soldiers posted before Shinooka’s loud voice pulled him back into the current moment.

“Well, I figure you’ll probably want to go to your room first to drop off your bag, huh?” she asked, and Abe shrugged. He didn’t really care one way or the other, he figured, and it was weighty but not anything he couldn’t handle. The strap across his shoulder was distributed evenly across his chest for equal weight management for his body, so he’d be fine. Something in his expression must have told Shinooka all of the thoughts in his head, or perhaps she just took his shrug as a no, because she hummed and turned back around. “Okay, or not. So, this is the management floor where all of the higher ups have their offices, and the meeting room, well, obviously, since we just came out of it…” 

Shinooka laughed nervously, but Abe ignored her, instead looking around and taking in the location of things. There was an emergency phone in the wall, and the lights were very well taken care of in the facility despite its obvious age. It was much smaller than Musashino, but the janitor they passed on the way to the Shatterdome swept with an almost eerie proficiency. Abe thought of the rumors of Momoe’s iron-fist, and supposed that apparently it trickled down even that far.

Innumerable times Abe had stepped into the Musashino Shatterdome, but when the doors slid open and Shinooka led him into Nishiura’s, he still felt a clenching rush of adrenaline. The ceiling was tremendously high, and the Jaeger Striker Cleanup rested against the wall, clamped into place with mechanics running all around to take care of it. Little transport cars flittered back and forth, hundreds of personnel moving around to make the chain of command work as flawlessly as needed. On the far side, eight V-50 Jumphawks rested, their own mechanics working to keep the machines in top shape for the next time Striker Cleanup needed to be carried off. There was a palpable electricity in the air, and Abe felt the energy crackle on his skin. He looked at the vacant spot next to Striker Cleanup, a sudden knot in his throat. He didn’t even know who his copilot was and already, his fingers were twitching to get in a Jaeger.

“Yo, Shinooka,” a voice called, and Abe looked over to see two men walking up. One was tall, his head shaved and a friendly expression on his face, and the other had short ginger hair, wide eyes and a warm feeling to his demeanor. “Can you tell Momokan that we’re running a little short on rotor lubricant? I put in a request a week ago but I think it might have gotten lost in the system.”

“Sure!” Shinooka responded before extending her right hand towards Abe. “By the way, this is Abe Takaya from Musashino. He’s transferring in to be a pilot. Abe-kun,” Shinooka said, then looking to Abe, “This is Sakaeguchi Yuuto and Suyama Shouji. They’re pilots for the Jaeger transport helicopters.” Abe looked to the two pilots as Shinooka gestured to them in turn, nodding his head in acknowledgement. 

“Oh, I heard about you,” Suyama said, reaching a hand up and tugging on Sakaeguchi’s shirt sleeve while Abe felt a sudden unease. “Yuuto, he was one of the pilots for 144 Sprinter.” Sakaeguchi made an impressed noise, looking to Abe with an expression that screamed ‘wow, really?!’ more than if he’d said it himself. 

“You were piloting with Haruna-san, then,” Sakaeguchi clarified. “Wow, that’s super impressive! We’ve heard about him even here.” Sakaeguchi put his hands to his cheeks. “Wow, I’m suddenly really excited!”

Haruna’s name caused a twitch in Abe’s eyebrow that he felt, forcing himself to keep a straight face as much as possible. He could be a rock. He could. He looked to the two Jumphawk pilots, braced himself for the inevitable question that came whenever someone found out that he had applied for the transfer, the  _but why did you quit working with such a superstar pilot_  question that inevitably had his stomach churning with a mixture of anger and embarrassment he could barely swallow.

But it seemed as though Suyama and Sakaeguchi either didn’t care or had other things to do, because in the next breath they were waving goodbye to Shinooka, one last ‘nice to meet you’ and ‘don’t forget to talk to Momokan’ from each before they meandered back towards where the Jumphawks were grounded. Before Abe could think much more on the subject, Shinooka called his name again, and they were off towards the one Jaeger that was already in the Shatterdome. It wasn’t as big as 144 Sprinter, and it had a long pole attached to the right leg that was probably its primary weapon. It was smooth and white with red splashes of color for accents, its legs long and obviously built for power.

“This is Striker Cleanup, our only Jaeger at the moment. Tajima Yuuichirou and Hanai Azusa are the pilots, though you’d never think it looking at them,” Shinooka said, a slight sigh coming out of her lips.

“What, they don’t get along or something?” Abe asked, and Shinooka tilted her head before shaking it a bit.

“It’s not that so much as… well, you’ll probably meet them later today and you’ll see for yourself,” she said. “Anyway, that’s probably all you’ll need to see for now, and I’m sure you’re probably going to get hungry for lunch soon, so I’ll go on ahead and show you to your room.” Abe followed behind her back to one of the elevators, this one smaller and with significantly fewer buttons on the wall than the main one they’d used from the helicopter landing pad. Ten floors down, and then they were walking onto a significantly less busy hallway. A few people were walking around, but compared to the other areas he’d been in that morning, it was much more quiet and residential. When Shinooka stopped in front of a room and unlocked it, the ‘of course it feels residential, this is where the pilots sleep’ thought came.

Abe stepped into the room behind Shinooka, looking around while she watched him. There was a small kitchen with a fridge, a little living area with a couch and television, a door that most likely led to a private bathroom, and a separate bedroom with a bunk bed. Seeing the two beds reminded him of sharing space with Haruna, the many nights he’d stayed listening to his partner breathe while he couldn’t sleep, and trying to hide the occasional jerk-off by biting his pillow. 

“Am I going to be the only one in here until I get a partner?” Abe asked, looking to Shinooka in time to see her nod.

“It didn’t really make sense to put someone in here only to have them move out, and we’re not so poorly managed that we can’t afford to have you in a single room for a few days.” A few days, Abe repeated in his mind as he looked back to the room. They were hopeful about him finding a partner quickly, then. Judging from the size of the base, they probably had ten good recruits, maybe thirty total. He might find one that he was somewhat Drift compatible with, and the chances of it being a solid enough match to know if they could pilot a Jaeger together was pretty small. Definitely optimistic. But then again, he thought back to the tingling in his fingertips earlier in the Shatterdome, and remembered the moment when the machine and his body became one entity. He could put up with a lot for that.

Abe turned around and looked at Shinooka, who stretched out a hand and dropped the key for the room in his palm. “Thanks,” he said, taking the bag off his shoulder and putting the key in his pocket. A glance at the clock showed that it was now close to noon, and his stomach reminded him of the fact that he hadn’t eaten breakfast, and that last night he had only eaten a small amount because of the twisting in his gut. “Mind showing me where the cafeteria is?”

“Oh! Yeah, I totally forgot about that! Geez,” she mumbled to herself, turning and letting Abe lock the door behind them. “Do you need to know where the ration station is, too?”

“I don’t cook.”  _Couldn’t_  cook was more accurate, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Oh, okay.” She looked forward and fell silent, obviously uncomfortable without something to talk about, but Abe could really care less. He just wanted food and time to walk around and check out the base for himself. Maybe find a good place for his workout for the afternoon, and a good route for his morning run. 

The cafeteria was just starting to get busy as personnel from all ranks and areas of the base got together in the same large room to eat meals. Abe’s head threatened a throb at the noise level, but it wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to. He grabbed his identification card that had been mailed to him before he made the transfer over to Nishiura, and Shinooka gestured towards the food line.

“You go over there and show that person your identification card, then pick something off the line. You can sit wherever or bring it back to your room, and there’s a place at the end of every hall to put the trays and dishes and stuff when you’re done.” Abe nodded, then hesitated when he noticed that Shinooka was staring at him. “Oh, well, I guess that’s it then, huh? I put a map of the base in your room with the exercise wing circled in highlighter, so you can use that, and my phone number is at the top of a little notepad on your table. You can call me if you have any questions.”

“Yeah, sure, thanks,” Abe said, watching as she spun on her heel and disappeared with her clipboard clutched to her chest. He then turned around himself, flashed his identification card to the person standing at the front of the line, and grabbed the first tray he saw that had some kind of meat on it. Food in hand, he walked out of the food line, ready to search for a place to eat when he saw one of two familiar faces in the whole base.

“Oi, Abe!” Sakaeguchi called, standing up and waving his arm. Abe walked over to him, weaving through a small crowd of people making for a back table, and put his tray down in front of the helicopter pilot. Sitting next to him was the tall one with the shaved head… Suyama, Abe seemed to remember his name being. “So, how has your first day been?”

“Informative,” Abe responded, picking up his chopsticks and diving in to the meat first. It was good, about what he’d expect from cafeteria food, but more importantly, it sated the hunger pains in his gut that had been festering since the night before. Abe looked up and saw Sakaeguchi talking amicably with Suyama about their scheduled practice run with the other pilots. Abe felt a tenseness in his shoulders that he didn’t really understand, his eyes staring at the two across from him intently. They were probably just trying to get friendly enough to talk about why he split up with Haruna, Abe thought, taking in a bite of rice and chewing slowly.

“Oh, Abe, I meant to ask you earlier,” Suyama started, and Abe felt his muscles freeze. Ah, yes, here it came. “Do you know what kind of Jaeger we’re going to be getting?” …Huh? “We’ve heard rumors and stuff, but nothing really solid, and Shinooka said that she can’t tell us because it’s top secret, but I figured you might know and you seem like someone who wouldn’t mind talking.”

Abe blinked, staring at Suyama, who suddenly laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck, spluttering an apology. “Oh, no, you’re right, I don’t really care about that stuff,” Abe said, sort of taken aback at the completely different question than what he’d been expecting. “I was expecting you to ask something else. But no, I don’t know anything about it.”

Sakaeguchi leaned in, sucking lightly on a juice box. “Were you perhaps expecting us to ask about Haruna-san?” It was a close thing that Abe didn’t snap his chopsticks in half at Sakaeguchi’s sudden question. Sakaeguchi hummed and looked over to Suyama, who shrugged indifferently. “I guess I just figured that it was your business, right, Shouji?” Suyama made an affirmative noise, and Abe sighed before looking down into his food and eating slowly. They were definitely curious, Abe noted; Sakaeguchi had been pin-point, and they’d obviously talked about it enough to decide between the two of them that it wasn’t something they cared enough about to ask.

The rest of the meal went by pretty quickly, and the three of them parted ways to go to their separate afternoon activities. Abe went back to his room, pulling the key out his pocket and unlocking the heavy metal door. Inside, he turned on the light, then looked around as the door shut behind him. It was plain, but that was all right. He didn’t feel any kind of burning need to personalize the space. On the small two-person table in the kitchen, Abe found the map Shinooka had left, and a small notepad with several phone numbers (hers, an emergency line, laundry… laundry?), which he put into his phone for a lack of anything better to do. Pulling out the map and flattening it on the table, he found the exercise wing a floor above where he was now, and decided that a good workout was probably exactly what he needed to feel more at home. He grabbed his bag and pulled out a pair of sweats and a shirt, then walked out to the elevator.

The exercise floor was pretty impressive for what he’d expected. It wasn’t as nice and well-furnished as the one at Musashino, but the machines were new to make up for their lack of quantity. He checked out the locker room, which had a few people in it that looked like regular Ranger possibles, and he changed into the workout attire he’d brought from his room. Walking back out to the gym, Abe stretched slowly on a mat to warm himself up before claiming a treadmill. He started at a slow jog, then brought himself into his normal high-paced run. He hated treadmills and preferred to run out on a track, but until he mapped out an appropriate place, this would have to do, he thought grumpily. He ran ten kilometers, then walked one to cool down a bit before he took to the weight machines. His lower legs, thighs, abs, pecs, biceps… he worked everything until he was sweating profusely, feeling a physical tiredness that was still too much for where he would have been without three days of lying in a hospital bed doing nothing. A familiar frustration spiked in his stomach, and he ran through everything once more until it was dead.

A shower later, Abe dressed back in his clothes and started to walk around the base to get his grasp for where things were relative to everything else. He had a few hours until dinner and no one to talk to, leaving his options for what to do limited to little else. The thought to return to his room and watch the news until it was time for dinner struck him, and then his feet were carrying him there without his conscious effort to do so. He could explore later and he was feeling apathetic and lazy, he justified, opening his door and crashing on the couch ungracefully. He turned on the television and flipped through the channels, but before he could find the news, there was a familiar crack and the roar of a crowd. Abe paused, watching with wide eyes as the Seibu Lions scored a triple against the Nippon-Ham Fighters. Abe put down the remote, staring at the television in an almost reverent silence, and an aching hollow resounded in his gut that he had long thought he’d lost. Then, before the runner could make it home, Abe snatched up the remote and kept flicking through the channels, until finally he stopped on what looked like a news channel. The hollow feeling resounded, then slowly returned back to the back of his head where it belonged.

\----------

“You know, they’re calling for us to come at 0700 hours tomorrow to check out this new pilot guy. Can you believe? This is a chance to be a  _Jaeger_  pilot for real, man! It’s some transfer guy from another base, I heard, but he’s taken down a Kaiju before. This shit is as real as it gets! We just have to kick his ass!”

Hazel eyes flicked away from the small black wall marked with white chalk, and pale fingers gripped the railing as a thin body leaned over to try and hear the rest of the conversation going on a floor beneath him. It was too late, he realized, as the two Ranger candidates had just been walking by an open window and weren’t actually on the balcony below him. In his right hand, the baseball pressed into his palm as he tightened his fist, a sort of forlorn sadness crawling into his chest as he put togther what was going on from what he’d managed to hear in passing.

_Passed over again_ , Mihashi Ren thought, lips curling downwards.  _Another session in the Kwoon Combat Room that I wasn’t invited to. At this rate, I’ll…_  Turning away from the side of the building and back to the chalk lines scraped on the wall, Mihashi stared at the nine-part partition in front of him and gripped the baseball even tighter as his lips pressed tightly together.  _Upper left_. 

With a smack, the ball left his palm and hit in the precise place he’d been looking, then rolled back slowly to his feet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be adding tags and characters and whatnot as they become relevant.


	2. partition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gapes at the overwhelmingly positive response so far* I HOPE... TO HOLD TO YOUR STANDARDS.... THANK YOU.... EVERYONE...
> 
> This would have been out yesterday but uh. I have this thing. Where I go to rewatch the show to find a scene and I um. Rewatch half the damn series so. Yeah. *sweats*
> 
> Edit: I completely forgot to include this but!! If you are interested in background stuff for the au check out [this tag](http://blondnepeta.tumblr.com/tagged/oofuri-pacific-rim-au) on my tumblr, but only after you read the latest chapters and stuff bc there might be spoilers.

Abe woke slowly, blinking the sleep out of his eyes to see the bottom of the top bunk in front of his face. His stomach suddenly lurched, his whole body freezing as he suddenly woke up in an adrenaline-spiked rush, because  _he_  slept in the top bunk, meaning he’d crawled into bed with Haruna and oh God he was  _never_  going to forgive himself  _shit didn’t he have better control than this_ - 

Except the bed was empty save for his own body, and he blinked again and relaxed. His eyes closed, a heavy emotion lingering in the back of his throat. Ah. Yes, that was right. He wasn’t at Musashino anymore.

He sat up with a soft groan, rubbing his hand over his face and exhaling slowly. Grabbing his phone, he saw that it was almost six, and he’d woken up just before his alarm was set to go off. Blearily, he reached over and unset his alarm so he didn’t have to listen to the shrill screech unnecessarily, then pulled back the blanket and pressed his feet into the floor. He stretched his arms and leaned back, feeling the muscles in his trunk move before he huffed out and slumped into his lap. He stayed that way for a few seconds, letting his blood pressure catch up to his brain for the morning. Abe stood, padding with heavy feet over to the bathroom to piss and wash his face. 

He still looked like hell, he noted after he shaved and was patting his face with a hand towel. He pressed the freshly-laundered cloth to his mouth as he stared into his reflection, a twinge of self-depreciation hooking into his clenched hands. The bags under his eyes still lingered, proving that his sleep still wasn’t as restful as it needed to be. It was probably a good thing he wasn’t in the Jaeger rotation, he thought grimly. He put the hand towel on the ring next to the counter, shutting off the light in the bathroom while he pulled on a pair of sweat pants over his boxers. Maybe by the time he was back in the game, he’d be over his shitty ex-partner and his stupidly perfect hair and stupidly perfect cocky grin, and he could get some sleep and not kill himself and his partner trying to pilot a Jaeger half-aware.

His body ached for a run, but the thought of going into the Kwoon Combat Room after a workout made him shut that down right away. He knew how this morning was going to go down. The Ranger Cadets were going to be thirsty to prove themselves against a ‘real pilot’, and he’d have to be on the top of his game or he’d get his ass handed to him in an ungraceful way. He’d been the same way going against Haruna the first time, and though he’d still gotten his ass pinned to the ground more than once (with the bruises to prove it), it hadn’t been too long before he’d done some killer moves of his own. No, he didn’t need to do anything before going there. But he could be a little early, definitely.

And so Abe grabbed his gym bag and slung it over his shoulder, checking the map he’d pinned to the door beneath the peek hole for the location of the Kwoon Combat Room. It was two floors above him, down the hall to the right. With a loud burdened noise, the door opened, then shut heavily behind his light footsteps. The hallway was surprisingly active at such an early hour, with a few Ranger Cadets hanging around, and a few people running errands back and forth. There was someone changing a broken lightbulb, muttering something about ‘damn kids playing basketball indoors’, and Abe prayed for their sakes that they didn’t try to do something so stupid when he was around. 

The elevator was empty when he stepped in, pressing the button to go to the floor where the Kwoon Combat Room was. His gut felt the pull as the machine moved with the grunt of gears and steel, then stopped one floor above. The doors opened, and there was a sudden loudness that filled the elevator that wasn’t just noise, but rather two other people that had a presence that completely filled the space.

“Hanai, come  _on,_  you’re so slow,  _geez_ ,” a short boy said, his maroon eyes wide and highly amused. The person who got on the elevator behind him was much taller, his head shaved and an exceedingly put-upon grimace on his face. 

“How the hell do you have so much energy this time in the morning?” the tall one - Hanai, Abe assumed, quietly standing in the corner of the elevator as the two spoke almost as if they had completely missed his presence. He stared at them, the name ‘Hanai’ registering as sort of familiar. “Maybe next time you should run twice so you can calm down for a change.”

Ah, yes, Abe thought, eyes narrowing. Hanai Azusa and Tajima Yuuichirou, pilots of the Striker Cleanup. In simulations, they’d wiped the floor, scoring sixty drops and fifty nine kills, and their real combat record was equally impressive with three kills to date. The coastline around Japan wasn’t too busy with Kaiju activity, and Abe had always wondered why a pilot with scores like Tajima had stayed at a place like Nishiura when he could obviously do so much more closer to Hong Kong or Australia. 

“I wanna push the button - oh?” Tajima said, blinking comically when the button he reached towards was already lit. It was at that point that the elevator doors shut, and Tajima and Hanai seemed to notice him simultaneously as they both turned in an impressive tandem. Tajima looked at Abe, then flashed him a thumb’s up. “Yo, you’re Abe, right? I saw your interview with Tokyo Broadcasting. Good job taking down Blue Mitt! I’m Tajima, and this is Hanai, my partner! His first name is Azusa but he doesn’t - ack!” 

Abe watches as Hanai wraps his arm around Tajima’s throat, pulling him into a chokehold that cuts off his speech right away. “You little roach…!” 

“It’s cute! Stop being so embarrassed!”

When the elevator doors open again, Abe felt like he could weep with gratitude. He stepped out, then looked over his shoulder to where Tajima was struggling against Hanai, wriggling in his best efforts to get out of the hold. Suddenly, Abe remembered Shinooka’s words that they always came across as a surprising pair for Drift compatibility, and somehow, Abe felt like he understood. And yet, he remembered the way they’d smoothly looked at him at the same time, that eerie synchronization that was possible only after sharing the same thoughts for long periods of time, and only in copilots that were very close. Their personalities might clash outside of a Jaeger, but their Drift compatibility was easy to see.

Well, maybe not completely compatible, Abe thought as an undignified squawk from over his shoulder came from Tajima just before the elevator doors shut with the two of them still on it. Abe turned and continued to the Kwoon Combat Room, pulling off the shirt he’d thrown on in favor of a simple white tee shirt. He folded it neatly and put it on top of his bag, just as a powerful voice from behind him called his name and demanded his attention. He looked, and Marshal Momoe stood in the doorway, arms crossed and a fierce smile on her face.

“I had a feeling you’d be early,” she said, walking over to him. She unfolded her arms and clasped her fingers in front of her face when she stopped right in front of him. Abe bent down to zip up his bag, a tendril of annoyance already peeking around in his stomach. “You’re that type that’s desperate to get back into the Jaeger no matter what.” Abe stood quickly, just in time to catch a finger in his forehead that had him stumbling back, gaping in shock. Momoe’s smile only grew larger and more carnivorous, but before she could continue, a few of the Ranger Cadets entered the room. Momoe looked at Abe and gave him a short laugh and tilt of the head before she went to address her underlings appropriately, and Abe watched her go with a heavy feeling that the iron-fist of Momoe was not even close to the rumors.

Abe walked over to the side of the wall where several poles were stored, grabbing one and testing its weight in his hands. It was a little heavier than the one he was used to in Musashino, but not so much so that it would affect his martial arts any. Satisfied, he turned to stand in the end of the mat to await his first opponent. 

“Good luck, Abe-kun,” Shinooka said from the steps behind him, though her voice was soft enough that he wondered if he was supposed to hear it. The Kwoon Combat Room wasn’t about finding a winner or loser, after all, but an equal match. He looked over to the Cadets as they finally all seemed to arrive if the shutting door and Momoe’s beginning address were anything to go by. They were standing straight and none of them were looking curiously at him at the expense of giving Momoe full attention, so if nothing else, they had been trained well. When she stepped to the side, however, Abe felt a dozen hungry stares leveled on his person. 

His first opponent stepped forward quickly, his hands gripping the pole that Shinooka offered tightly in his hands. Too tightly, Abe assessed, stepping forward smoothly. His own pole came twisting around his front, blocking a downward swipe from the Cadet. Using the energy from his defense, Abe maintained the momentum and caught the bottom of Cadet’s pole with his own. A snap of his pole in a quick movement had the Cadet’s pole flying into the air, and one more step had Abe’s pole an inch from the side of his neck. Abe stepped backwards. “One, zero,” Abe called, waiting for the Cadet to snap out of his stupor and grab his pole. It took a moment, but the Cadet moved, then got into position again. Still too stiff, Abe thought, and in four steps, the Cadet was on the floor with Abe’s foot on his chest and pole in his face. “Two, zero.” The Cadet stood again, sweating a bit, and stiffer than ever. He was nervous, and when he was on his stomach seconds later, shamed. “Three, zero.”

“Okay, next,” Momoe called, clapping her hands together. The first Cadet stood quickly, handing the pole off to the second challenger. This one reminded him a bit of Haruna, Abe thought, looking into the young man’s cocky grin and straight shoulders. Probably too much, as it only took him two moves to pin him to the ground with a pained groan. “One, zero,” Abe said, feeling sort of bad because he’d definitely used more force than he’d intended by thinking about Haruna; the feeling quickly fled, however, as his opponent stood and smacked his pole angrily against Abe’s, face red with embarrassment when again Abe had the pole flying across the room with his own almost touching the Cadet’s nose. “Two, zero.” 

“Damn it,” the Cadet muttered, collecting his pole and then closing his eyes to breathe in once deeply. He looked a lot more relaxed, and it was clear that he had been trained well, Abe thought, because the next time took five steps to have him in a locked position, the Cadet’s pole slowly rolling away. 

“Three, zero,” Abe said, releasing him.

“Next,” Momoe ordered, and again, a third Cadet came forward, her eyes blazing and eager. She went down as easily as the other two, as did the fourth and fifth. By the time the ninth opponent was crawling away with a new bruised body and ego, Abe looked a bit apprehensively to the few remaining choices when he noticed that Tajima and Hanai had apparently made it from the elevator to the Kwoon Combat Room and were whispering to each other behind their hands. As if scandalized that they were caught, Hanai turned bright red and proceeded to ignore Tajima, who waved to Abe with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Cadets ten and eleven lost even more quickly than the others, and the last Cadet hit the floor and on the third count started to cry in frustration. Abe watched her leave, a writhing feeling of discomfort on his skin, but mostly angry disappointment. He’d been through all of the Cadets in the room, but not a single one had even managed to come close to being Drift Compatible. Most had been like Haruna; cocky, irrational, a little too quick and far too uncontrolled, and the others were just not at a level that they would be anything he would want to put up with, let alone could Drift with. Abe gripped the pole in his hand tightly, looking over to where Shinooka was whispering with Momoe and waiting for her to say something.

Before she could, Tajima came forward, bouncing on the heels of his feet. “Hey, hey, let me try!” he said, reaching with wiggling fingers to the last Cadet. She wiped her tears quickly on the back of her arm, handing over the pole while Hanai looked positively scandalized against the wall. Abe himself felt the scowl pressing into his forehead, though he had to admit, he was pretty interested to see just what Tajima Yuuichirou was made out of. 

“Tajima, what the hell are you doing?!” Hanai finally managed to claw out of his throat. Turning, Tajima gave him a look that was as innocent as innocent could be.

“I want to try it. There’s no one I haven’t been able to Drift with so far.” Abe felt his eyebrows shoot towards his hairline, because  _that_  was a claim he was dying to see in action. When Tajima looked back to him, there was a steadiness in his eyes that had Abe’s guts turning over themselves, and suddenly the goofball from the elevator felt very out of place and it seemed much more in character to think of the small figure in front of him as a well-bred war machine. “It’s okay, right? Momokan?”

Momoe’s spine straightened, and then she nodded after blinking once, an amused smile hiding what were probably her true thoughts. Tajima looked back to Abe, who gripped his pole and sank into a deeper stance as his answer. Tajima’s grin was flashed quickly, and then he was whirling towards Abe as if he was dancing. 

Abe lifted his pole and caught Tajima’s, but then there was a foot at his ankle that caught him and sent him to the ground. When Abe opened his eyes, there was the end of a pole in his face with Tajima on the other end, russet eyes as sharp as a blade. Yeah, Abe thought, standing and taking his pole back in his hands, the Striker Cleanup pilot was definitely in an entirely different league than the other Cadets from that morning, who seemed positively delighted to finally have Abe hit the ground. “Zero, one,” Abe said, exhaling and resetting his brain for the next move. When Tajima got back into position, Abe flicked his eyes over his posture. Completely relaxed and ready to move wherever he needed to. Abe stepped forward and one, two, three, four, five moves and Tajima was on the ground, pouting childishly. 

“One, one,” Abe called while Tajima rolled onto his feet in an impressive show of his athleticism and grinned at Abe.

“Oh, man, that last move was totally cool! Let me see if I can try it!” Tajima gripped his pole the same way Abe had in the last round, but by the third move, Abe had him on the ground at the mercy of his arm pinned to his back. 

“Two, one,” Abe said, and Tajima huffed before grabbing his pole again. Twirling it expertly around his hand, he got into position the same as the last time, and one, two, three, four - Abe stopped his pole just short of Tajima’s throat. “Three, one.”

Tajima pulled away and made a high-pitched frustrated whine, taking the pole and tapping himself on the forehead. He exhaled, inhaled, then turned back to Abe with that same focused look as he’d had the whole time. “Okay, I got it this time,” Tajima promised. One, two, three, four, a spin to get Abe’s pole out of alignment and - “Ah!” Tajima moved his arm in an almost impossible arc, and with one last curl of his legs, he had Abe rolling forward, grunting as he hit the mat on top of his pole. “All right! That’s totally awesome!”

Abe picked himself up, though he felt as though a piece of his dignity stayed stuck on the floor beneath him. It had taken him four months to master that move with Haruna, he thought sourly, and this freak prodigy had picked it up in a couple of rounds. “Three, two,” he said, fingers tight on the pole heavy against his palms. Tajima moved forward, eyes almost painfully wide as he probably took in every clench of Abe’s muscles and calculated by instinct accordingly, and in a flash, Abe’s back hit the ground, his breath coming out in a quick rush and the sound of Tajima’s laughter mocking him from above. 

“Hell yeah! Did you see that, Hanai? That was so cool! Can we try that again later?” Abe peeled himself up, looking at Tajima with a new respect for the pilot because not only had he copied Abe’s move, he’d made it better, shortened it to two fluid movements, and Abe had barely been able to make it so he’d fall in such a manner that he’d only lose his breath for a few seconds.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Momoe said, folding her arms again. It was indeed, Abe thought grudgingly. “Cadets, you’re dismissed to go back to your regular schedules for today. Hanai-kun, Tajima-kun, the both of you are back to your regular schedules today as well. Abe-kun, as it seems that you didn’t quite find someone today, you’re to get to know the Cadets and see if you can’t build something up after getting to know them. It’ll take time, but we’re getting that new Jaeger next week, so the faster you find someone, the better.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Abe said in time to Tajima next to him and Hanai against the wall, and then he turned to see Tajima standing carelessly next to him. 

“See, I told you! I can Drift with anyone!” Tajima proclaimed. He didn’t know about anyone, but Abe definitely agreed that they had at least some manner of Drift compatibility together. Definitely too high-maintenance a partner, though, he thought, watching as Tajima suddenly spun around and jump-tackled Hanai for what looked like a distinctly uncomfortable piggy-back ride. Somewhat exhausted despite the fact that he’d done not nearly enough physical activity to make him this tired, Abe put the two poles to the side of the room and went for the elevator to go back to his room. 

Tajima and Hanai had gone somewhere down the hall, so Abe had the elevator all to himself. He rested his head against the cool metal, closing his eyes as he listened to the cranking gears and moaning metal move him down two floors beneath. Twelve Cadets and not even a hint of Drift compatibility. He opened his eyes again against a twinge of a headache tugging at his sinuses, then stepped out when the doors opened to go back to his room for a shower and to change. He unlocked the door, shut it behind him, and stripped on the way, tossing the clothes in the laundry basket by the toilet and tugging on the hot water until steam rose out into the vent. When he was clean, he stepped out, dried off, and pulled on a fresh pair of boxers. He looked into the mirror to see if he looked as frustrated as he felt, but it had fogged up enough so that he could just make out his outline and the dark mess of his hair on his head, with a bare hint of the curls leading down beneath his boxer line. Another heavy sigh, pants and a tee shirt, and Abe was out of the room with apprehension curling in his gut. 

_Get to know the Cadets_ , Momoe had said, as if that was something he could just  _do_. Even if he hadn’t just smothered them all into the floor of the Kwoon Combat Room, there was no way he get enough trust built up in a day to be Drift Compatible enough to show a change in results with a pole in hand, let alone enough to do the Jaeger simulations, and definitely not enough to pilot the machine itself. Even he and Tajima, who had seemed to have pretty decent Drift Compatibility, would have to practice at it for that level. He’d heard of so-called ‘Blanks’, thought it was just a rumor, that there were people who could Drift with almost anyone because of their lack of presence in the Drift; but experiencing Tajima in the Kwoon Combat Room had definitely taken a step to changing his mind, because there was no way someone could be that unreadable and still be Drift Compatible if they weren’t a Blank.

Abe stopped walking in the middle of the hall and shook his head. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Tajima, he told himself. He was supposed to be finding the Ranger Cadets and talking to them to build up trust. The thought caused him to pause again after he’d started walking, as it had suddenly occurred to him that he probably… no, he definitely didn’t remember any of their faces. Well, sort of, in the sense that he might recognize them if he saw them in uniform, but definitely not enough to tell them apart, and, well, shit. Abe scowled, feeling his headache coming back a bit, and he decided that it was definitely better to take an early lunch instead of walking around looking for faces that he would sort-of-but-not-really-very-much remember, and hey maybe he’d be lucky and one of the Cadets would decide to come sit with him at lunch and start a conversation and they’d build up that confidence needed to Drift, and maybe he wouldn’t have to work to get to know someone after all.

The thought spurred him towards the cafeteria with a bit more perk in his step, and he was in the elevator and already sort of hungry by reflex in the blink of an eye. He flashed his identification card and then walked up to the food line, grabbing a tray of food and turning to the cafeteria. As expected from the earlier hour than usual, there were only a few people already eating, and no one that he recognized from the Kwoon Combat Room. Yes, step one of his plan was working brilliantly, Abe thought, quickly swallowing down what he knew was probably a sinister smirk on his face. Haruna had told him about that expression more than once, and it was definitely not the ‘please-approach-me’ face he needed in order for step two to work. No, he needed to be friendly and definitely one hundred percent approachable. 

Abe sat down at the table, picking at his food with a feigned nonchalance even as he cut his eyes up to the chair across from him with a touch of expectance. He got through the meat, then moved onto the salad, chewing a bit more slowly each time he took a bite and the seat remained empty; and then he got to his rice, and he felt the frown on his face but couldn’t make it go away because damn it he was trying and couldn’t everyone  _see_  that he was  _obviously very approachable,_  until his rice was all gone and his little brownie with rainbow sprinkles in the icing was all that was left, and in a last ditch effort to get his future copilot as much time possible, he ate the sprinkles first, picking each one off and swallowing past the artificial color flavoring. The sudden flash of anger that no one was going to sit with him today had the entire brownie in his mouth at once in response, and he chewed fiercely before swallowing down the whole thing without hardly tasting it. He gripped his tray tightly in his hand and escaped into the hall, feeling particularly pissed off because okay, yeah, that had been a really shitty plan, Abe Takaya, definitely no one would want to sit with you after you kicked their asses in the Kwoon Combat Room in front of all their peers, and damn it, he was going to have to  _talk to people_. 

It occurred to him that he didn’t even know where the Ranger Cadets slept or hung out, because he hadn’t bothered to check that information on the map Shinooka had given him since it was obvious and clear the day before that he was going to get a copilot in the Kwoon Combat Room that morning. He thought about going back to his room and getting his map to find out where the best place to go was, but he was equally against that because it meant walking around with a map in his hand, and the last thing he wanted to do was look like some idiot who didn’t know what the hell he was doing and endanger the chances of him getting a decent copilot. So instead, he resigned himself to walking around the base for the afternoon, maybe hopefully catching one of the faces from that morning and remembering them, or something. 

Probably an hour had passed when Abe found himself in a part of the base that he hadn’t been to before, and while that wasn’t anything special, there was a sound that he didn’t recognize from anywhere else in the base. It was a dull thwack, over and over again, like someone was hitting something over and over again. He followed the sound as best as he could, and stopped at a window when he realized that the sound was best heard from there. He leaned out, looking around, and when he heard the sound again, he pinpointed that it was directly above his head. He craned his neck, and saw that on the floor just above this one, in this exact place, there was a balcony, and someone was making that noise there. Boredom, probably, had him curious enough to inscribe the path to the elevator in his mind, mash the button for the next floor up, and then trace the path back towards the sound. He followed it, the  _thwack, thwack, thwack_ , until he found a door to a terrace outside. He opened the door, startled by the fact that there was no breeze despite their location by the ocean, but then realized that it was because of where this particular balcony was between two legs of the base. 

When he turned the corner and found the source of the noise, he felt his stomach drop out to his feet.

He was pitching to the wall, Abe realized, staring at the blond wind up and hit the square - square, no, not square, that was… a grid? - dead center. Strike from the outside, Abe thought, and he didn’t realize he was moving until there was softness beneath his hands and the blond was turning in shock and what an incredible shade of hazel - 

“You’re a pitcher?” he asked, stupidly, because yes you fucking moron of course he was a pitcher, but really it was incredible, and the blond looked absolutely terrified, like Abe was going to murder him for throwing a ball at the wall, and yeah, okay, it was pretty stupid to throw a baseball like that, but it wasn’t enough for him to look  _that_  guilty. “What’s your name?”

“I’m… I… I’m sorry…” the blond stuttered, eyes focused absolutely everywhere except Abe’s. “I’m… yes, pitcher… Mi… Mihashi Ren…” His hands were clutched protectively at his chest, and it was then that Abe saw the glove on Mihashi Ren’s left hand, and a sudden thought popped into his head, a thought so silly and yet he couldn’t make it go out.

“I’m Abe, a catcher. Can you pitch to me for a bit?” he asked, looking pointedly at Mihashi’s glove. Mihashi blinked at him, mouth making shapes but no noises, until he nodded fast enough to rip his head off, and he shoved his glove at Abe’s chest before he tore his hand back in a mechanical movement. 

“I’m… I’ll disappoint you, but… I’ll pitch!” Mihashi said. Ten thousand questions ran through Abe’s mind, about signs, and shit, this was a really bad idea because he wasn’t wearing a helmet or a cup or any other protective gear, but before he could open his mouth and ask them, he stopped. He looked at Mihashi, at his tiny little frame, and then his eyes looked over those shoulders to the wall behind him, at the grid made out of chalk on the black wall, and how this pitcher had found probably the only place in the base without the wind that would mess up his pitches, and Abe was slipping the glove onto his hand and walking to the wall. He stared at it for a second, taking in every impact mark that was visible, how they were all cluttered around the grid and - and nine, nine partitions, he thought in a beautiful horror, tracing his fingers over the chalk lines. He turned around, the thought  _is this possible?_  running through his mind, and he got into a crouch that was pure muscle memory even after years.

“Fastball, down the middle,” he shouted, because they didn’t have signs, and the glove was tight on his hands but it felt good. His stomach felt tight, and he watched Mihashi swallow thickly before standing straight, ball in his right hand as his leg lifted, and his body twisted forward as the ball soared eighteen and half meters away. It was low, Abe thought, lowering the glove, but at the last second, his eyes widened, a fraction of a second as he realized that no, it wasn’t low, it was exactly perfect, and with his glove returning to its original position, the ball hit his palm with the most satisfying sound he’d heard in years. He stared at the pitcher across from him, a strange sensation trickling from head to toe, and it was as the pitcher straightened that Abe finally saw the symbol on his uniform shirt. He’d seen that symbol before, Abe realized; he’d defeated it thirty six times that morning, and suddenly he was standing, ball tight in his hand and feet heavy as the words on his throat.

“Where the hell were you this morning?!” he shouted, running up to the pitcher and grabbing his shirt in a tight fist. “The Ranger Cadets were supposed to go to the Kwoon Combat Room at 0700 hours!”

“I - I - I d-d-d- ”

“Why the hell did you skip?!” Abe shouted again, but the pitcher was more dextrous than he looked, and in the blink of an eye, he was sprinting off, wailing pathetically and leaving Abe alone on the balcony, Mihashi Ren’s baseball mitt clutching his left hand tight and the baseball pressing hard into his palm with his curling grip. A curl of rage brewed hot in his gut as he realized what had probably happened, and with a choked noise, he stomped out to the elevator, mashing the button for the command floor. Every second had the heat in his body curling higher and higher, until he was sure he was red in the face by the time he’d reached the door guarding the soundproof meeting room, and as if fate itself had decided that Abe was in the right, Momoe and Shiga stepped out, laughing as if they hadn’t just spat in his face.

“Oh, Abe-kun, what - ”

“Why weren’t all of the Cadets present this morning?!” he asked, as calm as he could manage with the hurricane destroying his stomach. “What was the selection criteria?!”

Momoe stared at him, then turned to face him directly. “The top pilots of the Ranger Class were picked, based on their engagement scores and - ”

“What would have kept someone from getting picked?” he asked, heart hot in his chest, burning with the need to know, because there was hazel and blond in his eyes and no matter how much he blinked it wouldn’t come out.

And then Momoe answered his question, gave him the answer that had him stunned, because it was the worst thing he could hear, and every shred of heat in his body was replaced with an ice that chilled him from the tips of his ears to his stomach where it dropped down to his toes.

_“Those who weren’t called to come… can’t Drift.”_

 


	3. harmony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments on various website and kudos and all of those other great things that let me know how cool y'all are!!! I really can't tell you how much it means to get awesome feedback like that. Y'all are incredible!!
> 
> Here's chapter 3, featuring happy feelings before the storm and more baseball than you'd expect in a Pacific Rim AU, thanks to team mother figure Sakaeguchi.

It took Hanai until after lunch to decide that he was going to ask, and even then, it wasn’t until he was lying in his bottom bunk with Tajima swaying and humming above him during their scheduled rest time to work up the courage the rest of the way. 

“Why did you spar with Abe this morning?” he asked, looking away from the magazine in his hands and staring at the depression in the mattress above him shift around with Tajima’s movements. He wasn’t jealous, just curious, absolutely and definitely. He affirmed it again even as Tajima’s obnoxious laughter filled his ears and brought the heat to his cheeks at how transparent he was to his copilot.

“You’re totally jealous,” Tajima said. Hanai smothered his groan in his pillow.

“Will you just answer the question?!” Hanai bit out, reaching his leg up and kicking at the bottom of the top bunk. Tajima only laughed harder, but Hanai settled down into his bed as he thought back to that morning. It hadn’t been the first time he’d seen Tajima spar with someone else, and it hadn’t been the first time he’d seen someone else be Drift  compatible. That was part of the whole ‘Blank’ thing, after all. But that didn’t mean that his fingers didn’t feel a little too tight against his palms every time it happened, either.

“I was just curious,” Tajima said after he managed to quit laughing. Hanai could hear the kind of face he was making in his voice, knew that even after laughing and joking around, his eyes were serious and his mouth flat as they pulled around his words. “I just need to make sure that it’s different.”

At this, Hanai looked up to Tajima’s bunk, as if making eye contact with his bed would give him some sort of insight to exactly what the hell  _that_  meant. “What’s different?”

“Us,” Tajima answered, as easily as if he was asking Hanai to turn the lights off. Hanai blinked once, then looked back down at the tip of his socks where his legs were crossed. Tajima had said that the first time they’d sparred, too. That it felt different with Hanai, that being Drift compatible with him was special. Hanai had never understood, because for him, Drifting with Tajima was just like Drifting with the one other person he'd been compatible with, Suyama. Then again, when he Drifted with Tajima, he got everything - memories, thoughts, sensations, all of those things that a Blank supposedly didn’t bring into a Drift. Decided he’d never tell Tajima how it made his stomach do something funny when he thought about it, partially because the last thing the little prodigy brat needed was another ego boost, and partially because it would be a waste of breath. There were things said in a Drift that couldn’t be said any way else. Tajima already knew.

“Hey, Hanai. I’m gonna come, and then you wanna watch a movie for a bit before our afternoon workout or something?”

“Sure,” Hanai answered, closing his eyes. The first few times Tajima had masturbated in their room, Hanai had sprinted out in flushed embarrassment. Then, he’d started throwing  _Tajima_  out, sometimes even in his boxers with a raging erection and a pathetic expression. When even that didn’t slow his partner’s libido down, Hanai had set up the ‘ground rules’, that Tajima could only masturbate in the bathroom, and he had to be quiet so Hanai couldn’t hear. It had always been worthless to try to tell Tajima to keep it completely to himself though, stupid to pretend it didn’t happen when Hanai got every fantasy his copilot ever had in the Drift the next morning.

It was probably the third time they’d Drifted that Hanai picked up on the fact that Tajima sometimes came thinking of him, and it was during the Neural Handshake of their first real drop that the flicker of excitement came strong enough from Tajima for him to know what it was, the impression that  _thinking of Hanai gets me off best_ , and that had been the changing point, probably. The point when Tajima started finger-fucking himself in his bed instead of their shower, the silent acknowledgement between the two of them that something had changed.

A soft sound from the bunk above Hanai’s head caught his ears. Tajima had whispered his name, soft and broken, and with a clench of his teeth, Hanai reached a hand down to his sweatpants and cupped himself. He put the magazine he’d been reading down, tipped his head back and ran a thumb along the slit that dribble precum over the pads of his fingers as he touched himself to each of Tajima’s whispers of his name. Tajima always went too fast for him, the sound of his hand fucking his cock always too high of a pace for Hanai to get off to. If they ever did it together,  _really_  did it together, he’d have to show Tajima how to savor it more, that a little teasing went a long way. Maybe he could get away with fewer orgasms in a day if they were better for him.

“ _Azusa_ ,” Tajima wailed, and Hanai rolled to his side, legs pulling up as he clutched the sheets and fucked his hand. Tajima was close. He only ever used Hanai’s first name right before he came, and the mental image of Tajima, mouth hanging open and so wet and hot pulled a grunt from his throat and made his cock twitch. Wet slapping noises and their bunk beds shook a little as Tajima’s hips probably came off the bed with each movement, and then Tajima was using that high-pitched whine that came out of his tiny body with each splurt of cum, and Hanai cupped a hand over the head of his cock as he came to keep from having to do both of their sheets. He was panting, felt each labored rise and fall of his chest as he tried to slow down his heart rate, and then he fell into a thick warmth post-release. Lazily, he reached out for a tissue out of the box on the table next to his bed, cleaning off his hand and tucking himself back into his sweats. He grabbed two more, because Tajima always made a big mess, and in perfect unison, he raised them up as Tajima reached down.

“Thanks,” Tajima hummed, voice husky and in aching contrast to the shrillness of his ecstasy-pitched tone. Hanai let his right arm fall heavily over his chest, feeling too hot and kind of sticky for lying down but not wanting to move. Tajima was in the same boat on top, his breath slowly coming back down to normal as well. And then, the sound of a waistband snapping back into place and Tajima was sliding out of the top bunk, the grin on his face looking a little too good when matched with the splotchy flush of post-orgasm glow, and Hanai absolutely definitely didn’t glance down at Tajima’s right hand just as he knew that Tajima absolutely definitely didn’t look at his.

“Movie?”

“Yeah.”

\----------

It became clear to Abe after about an hour that Mihashi Ren would not be coming back to the balcony while he was standing by the doorway with a sour expression on his face. Not only was it a waste of his time that would be spent actively searching for the blond, but also it wasn’t doing anything for the frustration that had so far only been able to escape through him tapping a finger anxiously on his crossed arms. Abe pushed away from the wall and stalked back to the elevator to go back to his room.

Shinooka had marked the map she’d given him with just about everything he’d needed so far, even going to the point of drawing out the emergency routes with their respective codes for the intercom system, and had given the vending machines a rating system for their food quality. It was ridiculous, really, but she’d yet to fail him. 

He unlocked his door and stepped inside, then looked to where he’d pinned the map to the wall earlier. He flicked through the different pages, eyes scanning each of the labels and looking for something, anything that was related to the Ranger Cadets. There were over thirty floors in this damn place, almost twenty pages of maps, and despite Shinooka’s thoroughness, nothing was marked with any form of ‘Ranger Cadet Hang Out Spot’ that Abe could see. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, opening his contacts and scrolled past ‘laundry’ to get to ‘Shinooka Chiyo’.

“Hello?” her voice picked up almost immediately, and judging from the lack of ambient noise, Abe figured she was probably on the administrative floor in one of those sound proof rooms.

“Where do the Ranger Cadets hang out?” he asked. It wouldn’t have been a weird question to ask even if he hadn’t met Mihashi Ren that morning, he figured, since his job was to look for the Cadets and get to know them for Drift Compatibility. He wondered if she knew anything about the blond, if he would gain anything by asking besides a reoccurrence of his earlier migraine. It was hard to imagine that vibrating ball of anxiety being friends with anyone, though.

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t mark that on your map because I figured you wouldn’t need it. Hmm, I guess most of them would hang around the fourteenth floor since their rooms are there. There are some common areas and a gym especially for them, so…”

“Thanks,” Abe said, hanging up after Shinooka made a sound of acknowledgement. He put his phone back in his pocket and let the map fall out of his hands back to hang on the pin on the wall, about to leave the room when something white on the couch caught his attention. It was the baseball and mitt he’d accidentally stolen from Mihashi, or rather, that the idiot had left in his desperate attempt to get away as fast as he could. Abe stared at the two items, then grabbed them on his way out to the elevator. Mihashi would probably freak out of Abe started talking to him right away about Drifting and being a pilot, but he seemed to like baseball enough to make it a safe topic. If nothing else, Abe could get him his stuff back, maybe get his phone number so he could work on him being comfortable enough to bring up the subject of being his copilot. Nobody in the Ranger program  _wouldn’t_  want to be a Jaeger pilot, after all.

Abe hit the button for floor fourteen and felt the pull of the elevator. The doors swished open silently, and he stepped into what was definitely hostile territory. At least three heads turned his direction, and he sort of recognized them from the other end of a combat pole. Yeah, he’d found the place where the Ranger Cadets hung out for sure, and at least a couple of them still held a grudge for whooping their ass. Then again, he was their best ticket to getting in a Jaeger, and he noticed more than one flicking their eyes back to him after looking away. 

Walking up to one of them, Abe cleared his throat and put on his best friendly talk-to-me smile he could manage. It was a guy about his age, one of the Ranger Cadets that hadn’t been a complete asshole when he put him to the floor. “Excuse me. Do you know where Mihashi Ren is?”

“Mihashi…? Oh, that guy,” the Ranger recognized. He shook his head. “Yeah, he doesn’t really hang around here a lot. Um, or talk to anyone, really. Keeps to himself.” The guy shuffled his feet nervously, but Abe sighed and looked away after realizing that he wasn’t going to get the information that he needed out of him. Well, not completely, he thought, turning and walking back to the elevator. He’d gotten enough information to know that Mihashi definitely wouldn’t be hanging around this floor, and he probably ate his meals at off times to avoid people. Or, maybe he ate his meals at the busiest times, to have an excuse  _not_  to sit with people he knew? Or maybe somehow he could get his meals to his room? Or what if he took all of his meals and ate them in different places so as not to get a routine?

“Shit,” Abe muttered, pushing the button on the elevator a lot harder than he needed to as frustration bubbled in his gut. He was probably over-thinking this… no, he was definitely over-thinking this. Haruna’s voice,  _‘You really need to learn to shut your mind off, Takaya’_  came unbidden, the familiar complaint that it was so hard to Drift with him when he was thinking ten million things a second. His stomach twisted again, and he decided that it was hunger and definitely not anything else, and it would be a good place to start looking for Mihashi since the blond clearly didn’t hang out with the other Ranger Cadets. Definitely.

Abe hit another button on the elevator, deciding to go to the cafeteria instead of wandering around mindlessly looking for some guy that was probably avoiding him to hell and back. He’d think better with food in his gut, Abe rationalized, and there was always a chance he’d run into Mihashi. Pitchers tended to have a big appetite, and while the guy wasn’t pitching professionally or in any games, he was keeping it up well enough to have placement good enough for a nine-part grid. He probably ate like a horse. 

After getting his food, Abe looked around the tables and saw that not only was there a definite lack of people because of the early hour, there was a definite lack of blond people, and the few that were there were not Mihashi Ren. There was a familiar face, however, and Sakaeguchi seemed to notice Abe at the same moment he noticed him, and there was a wordless agreement with Sakaeguchi’s friendly wave that they would eat together. 

“You’re here a bit early,” Sakaeguchi commented when Abe put his tray down and took the seat on the bench across from him. “I usually eat a little bit later, myself, but Shouji isn’t feeling well so I figured I’d bring him something for when he wakes up. You look like you have a purpose today, though!”

Abe chewed his steak, staring at Sakaeguchi twirling his pasta around his fork. “I found someone after lunch that I think I might be Drift compatible with, but he spooked off and now I can’t find him. It’s really irritating.” Abe speared a broccoli angrily, chewing on the vegetable with all of the frustration he couldn’t  _wait_  to take out on Mihashi in the Kwoon Combat Room for making him run around like this.

Meanwhile, Sakaeguchi tilted his head in confusion. “I thought you were going to find a pilot this morning?” Abe shrugged, and Sakaeguchi opened his mouth to say something  only to make a pleased noise when he looked to Abe’s left. “Oh, you play baseball? Shouji and I were on a team together in high school! What do you play?”

“Catcher,” Abe answered automatically. “These aren’t mine. I found this Ranger Cadet pitching to a wall yesterday and borrowed his glove to catch for him. He ran off as soon as I asked him why he hadn’t come to the session this morning, and he’s impossible to find. I have half a mind to wring his neck at this point.”

“Pitching, huh?” Sakaeguchi hummed. “You know, that’s interesting. They say that a battery is of one mind and spirit, or so one of my old coaches used to say to our battery.” Sakaeguchi gave Abe a wry smile that was ninety percent teasing and ten percent sincerity. “Maybe you should try working as a battery for a while to show him what it’s like to have Drift compatibility? How is he as a pitcher?”

“Slow,” Abe said immediately. He took a sip of tea, his eyes focused on the table but seeing the stark chalk-lines on the wall. They’d been crisp, in complete contrast to the many marks on the brick within them and the weathering that would stripe them away. Mihashi probably took a piece of chalk and redrew the lines every day. Suddenly his throat felt tight. “But accurate. The kind of guy that could pitch a shutout to a number one team, if his catcher was good enough.”

“Are you good enough?” Sakaeguchi asked, and Abe burned. The pilot across from him had asked one question, but Abe’d mind morphed it into another. A question he didn’t want to answer. A question that made him think of perfect hair and a cocky grin.

“That’s a good idea,” Abe said, settling for ignoring Sakaeguchi’s question. A prying look across the table let him know that Sakaeguchi had not missed that little detail, but the amused curve of lips disappeared behind a glass of water and didn’t comment. Abe felt a twist of grumpiness and it showed, if the way his face pulled into the familiar feel of a scowl was anything to go by. He sighed, then watched as Sakaeguchi stood after finishing the last bit of his lunch.

“In any case, good luck finding your pitcher. Oh, and Tajima and Hanai used to play baseball in high school, too, so maybe we could start putting a team together? You know, just for the weekends, or something?” Sakaeguchi offered, and the thought somehow felt nice to Abe, because maybe he wasn’t the most sociable person in the world, and maybe he still couldn’t watch baseball on television, but maybe playing with other people was just what he needed. 

“Yeah, sounds good,” he heard himself saying before he was probably ready to make that kind of comment, but Sakaeguchi’s smile was absolutely brilliant, and he held his tray in one hand as he waved goodbye, and Abe watched him leave with an oddly light feeling in his chest and gratitude that the system had messed up the order for whatever it was that had brought Sakaeguchi to talk to Shinooka. Maybe he’d stop kicking his computer when it didn’t work.

Abe finished eating himself and walked out of the cafeteria full and with the baseball in his right hand feeling heavier than before. He ran his finger over the stitching, felt the texture of the glove in his left hand, and stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the floor with Mihashi’s pitching setup with a renewed patience. He could wait. He could be like a stone. He could be patient for Mihashi Ren.

As if fate itself was on his side, Abe stepped out of the elevator and heard a familiar  _thwack thwack thwack_  that had his stomach bubbling in excitement. How lucky, he thought, speed walking to the door out to the balcony and throwing it open. Mihashi jolted, body freezing before whipping around, and he paled in fear when he recognized Abe as the scary guy that had yelled at him that morning. Except no, Abe thought fiercely, he wasn’t scary, he was one-hundred-percent approachable, super-friendly, absolutely-someone-to-pitch-to. 

“Calm down! I’m not going to yell at you!” Abe said, wincing a bit when he yelled that out. Well, not yelled, but definitely didn’t use what his kindergarten teacher called his ‘inside voice’. But it seemed to work, because Mihashi’s spine turned from a steel rod into a wooden one, and his eyes lost a bit of that wild-animal look to them. “You forgot your baseball and glove.”

“O-oh,” Mihashi said, and Abe looked to see that Mihashi had another baseball in his hand. He felt his brow twitch, because it looked possible that Mihashi had never planned on finding him to get his stuff back, and he was the only one that had felt something. 

A mental image of a steel box.

“Um, thank you,” Mihashi said, not stuttering but definitely nervous. “You needed a glove, though… right? So…I thought…”

…Oh. Maybe he was wrong, after all. Abe took a few steps forward when Mihashi seemed to relax even more, pushing his luck for his need to talk to the blond. “So, um. Do you have any signs or anything? For pitching, I mean.” Abe asked. Mihashi shook his head, his cheeks flushing a bit.

“No, I… haven’t pitched in a game since middle school, and I’m pretty sure my catcher hated me, so…”

Abe stared at Mihashi’s face and the way his shoulders hunched forward in a defensive maneuver to make himself smaller. Felt a twinge of anger, then frustration. “Okay. Well, I can teach you my signs really quickly. What do you throw?” Mihashi made a few general movements and gave them hesitant names, as if he wasn’t sure himself. “You’ve never had coaching?” Mihashi shook his head, and Abe looked over to the nine-part partition on the wall with the fresh chalk and that knot from earlier tickled his throat again.

It took about ten minutes for Mihashi to learn all his signs and repeat them back perfectly. Abe walked over to the wall and crouched down, giving Mihashi a sign for a fastball down the middle. Just like last time, it looked like it was low, but then fell perfectly into the glove tight on his left hand. Abe rolled the ball back since Mihashi didn’t have a glove and made a mental note to ask Mihashi where the post exchange was for Nishiura so he could get a glove of his own. A curveball right on the inside fell perfectly into place, as did the shoot on the upper right. A slider on the inside lower corner, curveball to the lower middle… Abe tested all of the pitches in each partition, each time feeling a bit more in awe at the fact that he never had to move his glove an inch to correct Mihashi’s missed pitches. He looked to the blond, who had a funny look on his face like he was almost smiling, and his whole body had finally relaxed enough for Abe to feel comfortable bringing up the next subject.

“Why didn’t you come to the Kwoon Combat Room this morning?” Abe asked while signaling for a curveball, high in the middle. He saw Mihashi frown, saw a bit of the tension come back, but when he went to pitch, his body relaxed. Abe felt a twinge of victory at finding something that could relax Mihashi enough to get him to talk and made a mental note to thank Sakaeguchi for the idea.

“I wasn’t… invited,” Mihashi said, the ball hitting right in Abe’s mitt yet again. 

Abe rolled the ball back again, wishing he had a catcher’s mask on so that his frown wouldn’t be so obvious. “Why not?”

Mihashi looked even more uncomfortable, and this time, it took two pitches for him to relax fully again. A fastball up the middle, followed by a shoot in the lower right hand corner. A close call between a ball and a strike. “I can’t Drift with anyone,” Mihashi confessed, face dark and eyes shimmering a bit. Oh, shit, Abe thought. He was a crier. 

“Have you ever tried?”

Mihashi nodded, throwing another shoot, this time straight down the middle. A fastball to the upper left hand corner. “Y-yes, but… it never works…” His shoulders were hunched more than ever now, and Abe bit his lip as he thought about when to say it before deciding fuck it, his Jaeger was coming in a week and damn it, he wanted to get in it as soon as possible.

“You can Drift with me,” he said, causing Mihashi’s gaze to snap up incredulously. Curveball on the outside. “We’re Drift compatible.”

Fastball to the upper left. “H… How do you…?” Slider in the inner lower corner.

“Mihashi. I’m not using signs anymore.”

Abe watched as Mihashi froze in place, in the middle of his windup, eyes wide and staring at Abe. He’d stopped giving signs about ten minutes ago, needing to test for himself as well as show Mihashi, and just as Sakaeguchi had said, it had worked. Abe was more sure than ever now, eyes watching Mihashi’s leg slowly touch back to the ground, face pale before flushing bright red with tears pulling at his eyelids. Abe stood, walking over to Mihashi, who ducked his face down towards the ground.

“But… But it’s…”

“Come on. Let’s go to the Kwoon Combat Room.”

“Now?”

“Now.” 

Mihashi stared down towards his feet a few seconds longer, but then he lifted his arm and vigorously rubbed his eyes with the back of his uniform sleeve. He looked up to Abe, who saw a reluctant affirmation in Mihashi’s eyes. They definitely had something, Mihashi agreed with him there, but whether pitching was enough to tell, whether Abe was just the kind of catcher who could catch a pitcher’s arbitrary throw or whether they really were on the same page about what to pitch, that was yet to be seen. 

Pitching hadn’t been tested in pilot Drift compatibility. The Kwoon Combat Room had.

Abe handed the ball and glove back to Mihashi, then turned and left the balcony to head towards the elevator. He didn’t need to turn around to make sure the blond was following him, because there wasn’t a Ranger Cadet in the service who wouldn’t jump at a chance to be a pilot, and also because he  _knew_ ; he’d seen the glittering hunger for success in Mihashi’s eyes, knew that they were the same. They both wanted to be in a Jaeger, and if it meant going into the Kwoon Combat Room and sparring with someone he’d known for the duration of thirty minutes of pitching practice, so be it.

The elevator was extremely loud for how silent it was, no words passing for the longest time. It was heavy on Abe’s shoulders, almost crushing, until a soft voice next to him broke the weight. “Um… You’re… Abe Takaya, right? Pilot of the 144 Sprinter. With Haruna-san.”

“Was the pilot. Not anymore, obviously.” Mihashi nodded quickly, too quickly and probably hard enough to strain his neck. Abe restrained himself from making a comment to keep the guy from getting hurt, because it wasn’t his place to start breathing down the guy’s throat about injuries yet.  _Yet_. 

The floor for the Kwoon Combat Room was almost empty save for a few service personnel moving around doing their thing. Abe unzipped his jacket and tossed it on the bench next to where the poles were on the wall, and turned to see Mihashi’s scrawny torso in his view. He was trying to take off the sweatshirt and had accidentally pulled his undershirt off as well, and was now lost in the cloth and panicking. 

“You’re hopeless,” Abe said, sighing and walking over to the blond to get him out of his clothes. The sweatshirt popped off his head and left his blond hair in an even bigger mess than it had been before, and Mihashi pulled his shirt down in a rush, looking at Abe with wide, expectant eyes. “Here,” he said, handing Mihashi a pole before a sudden thought crossed his mind. “You… have done this before, right?”

“Yes!” Mihashi chirped, then shrank down. “Um, I mean, I’ve won before and lost before, but…”

“That’s okay. Just do what feels natural,” Abe said, getting into position on the far side of the mat. He looked at Mihashi, and the thought that he looked almost exactly like he did when pitching struck him - body turned to the side, eyes focused on Abe with an incredible focus and intensity, every muscle relaxed and ready to move into position. It made him hesitate for one second, enough to irritate him, which caused him to step forward first. 

His pole swished through the air, catching Mihashi’s at the base, and Abe twirled his own in a motion that would make Mihashi either drop his pole or have to twirl his own. The pitcher squeaked nervously, his pole making a clacking noise on the matt and Abe’s pole stopping an inch from his nose.

“One, zero,” Abe called, stepping back as Mihashi bent down to collect his pole. Mihashi took in a breath with closed eyes, then opened them, and again, Abe found himself on the end of an intense focus that had chills going down his spine. He stepped forward again, but this time, Mihashi pulled the pole up like it was a baseball bat, and with two clacks and a sudden pressure on the back of Abe’s heel, the room spun, his stomach lurched, and he found himself on his back with Mihashi’s pole at his throat.

“One, one,” Mihashi said, reaching down and extending a hand for Abe to use to stand. He did, running the last few seconds through his mind in an attempt to figure out what had just happened. Mihashi had… distracted him with his pole, then used his foot to put him on his back. He was the kind of person that wanted his opponent to hit his pole, to focus on it, so that he could use the rest of his body to take them down. The kind of person who didn’t use speed, but rather pin-point accuracy. The kind of person who would make a hell of a pitcher. The kind of pitcher who could shut out a number one team.

Abe quivered. 

Mihashi took the first move, and Abe found himself unable to look anywhere except Mihashi’s swinging pole to keep it out of his face. Again, a touch on the back of his knee, and Abe was forced into a kneel as Mihashi’s pole lightly touched the back of his neck. One, two. Straightening, Abe took the forward movement, this time trying to remember the patterns Mihashi had used while pitching. He favored the less-direct pitches, was scared of his fastball, didn’t go for direct movements. His pole was the same, and in the blink of an eye, Abe had Mihashi’s pole rolling on the ground again, Abe’s pole resting on the side of his neck. Two, two.

Each step had Abe figuring out Mihashi’s movements a little better than the last. Three, two. But he wasn’t alone, and Mihashi’s movements got sharper, his eyes a little wider, eyes a little more focused. Four, two. It was getting harder to ignore Mihashi’s pole where it was trying to distract Abe long enough for the blond to pin him to the ground and claim a point. Four, three. A pitch-to-contact player, counting on the infielders and outfielders to help him finish a play after deceiving the batter into hitting a pitch that was easy to get an out. Four, four. 

Abe looked at Mihashi across from him, shoulders hefting with each breath, and finally he let himself stand straight, let his eyes close as the awe continued to wash over him, because he’d done it, he could see it in Mihashi’s wide hazel eyes that were a shade closer to golden in this light. He could see the spark of hope, the thought running rampant in Mihashi’s mind just as it was running rampant in his own, the thought  _I’m Drift compatible with you,_  and  _I want to be in a Jaeger at your side_. An incredible thought, one that had Abe’s breath stolen almost as much as the intense physical exertion it had taken to convince Mihashi of it. He inhaled deeply, then let it out. “We need to get Marshal Momoe in here.”

But then, Abe felt a clench in his gut as soon as he spoke, because he saw the light dip out of Mihashi’s eyes, saw his face lose a bit of the glow, saw his shoulders hunch forward as a touch of the insecurity come back. The same face that had fled from him earlier. The face of doubt.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Mihashi suddenly said, holding the pole tightly to his chest. Abe felt the frustration begin to bubble in his chest, because he had a feeling that he knew what Mihashi was apologizing for, that he’d drug as far as putting him through the Kwoon Combat Room but he couldn’t Drift.

“What are you apologizing for? You see it, don’t you? We’re Drift compatible.” Mihashi hesitated, then nodded. “Don’t you want to pilot a Jaeger?” Another hesitation, and another nod.

“We can show her, and I’ll do it, but…” Mihashi started, and before Abe knew what he was doing, his feet were bringing him across the room, and he had a hand clenched in Mihashi’s sweaty shirt and bringing the blond closer to his face.

“You’re the only person in this base who can Drift with me, Mihashi.” Mihashi blinked at him, and Abe pressed forward, knowing exactly what Mihashi wanted to hear, exactly what he needed to say to him. “I’m going to turn you into a Jaeger pilot, Mihashi. If you work with me, you’ll Drift, and we’ll get into a Jaeger. Isn’t that what you want?”

Mihashi blinked at him, eyes a little cross-eyed because of how close they were, but then he was nodding, and Abe realized that being close enough to count each of Mihashi’s blond eyelashes was probably too close. He relaxed his hold a bit, letting Mihashi go back to his full feet instead of his tip toes, and stepped back a bit on his own.

“Good. I’m going to call and have her come observe us tomorrow. Make sure to eat breakfast, but not too much. Something with protein. And bring a snack with carbohydrates to eat beforehand so you have enough energy. We’re Drift compatible, and you’re good, but we need to make sure that you’re at the top of your game in front of the Marshal. And don’t oversleep and be late, either. It’s a shitty first impression.”

“O-okay!” Mihashi chirped, nodding at sixty miles an hour. This time, Abe felt comfortable gripping his hair and telling him not to do it. It was softer than he expected, causing him to linger a second longer than he would have, and then Mihashi was stepping away, flushed and smiling with a stupid look on his face, murmuring something under his breath about being important. Abe resisted the urge to tell him to speak up, having the feeling that it wasn’t worth the battle.

“Go get some sleep, and eat dinner if you haven’t already,” he said, and Mihashi nodded before sprinting off towards the cafeteria. It was only when Abe finished rubbing the headache out of his temples that he realized that Mihashi had left his sweatshirt on the bench, and he suddenly struck with a feeling that this was going to be a long and painful partnership. He grabbed it along with his jacket, sighing and figuring he would just leave it in his room. 

After all, he thought with a wicked grin, Mihashi would be his roommate by tomorrow. 

 


	4. strike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: trigger warning for dissociative panic attacks/derealization!!! I tried to make it as light as possible while still getting the point across but do be careful if this is something that will affect your mental well-being!
> 
> Ok so WOW!!!!!!! at the response from last chapter! I see there was a general appreciation for last chapter's opening heh heh..... there will be much more of that to come :3c Also, we have FAN ART!!! Go check it out because it's INCREDIBLE and I'm so flattered and THANK YOU!! WOW  
>    
> [buyavowel - pacrim tajihans](http://buyavowel.tumblr.com/post/100712817407/i-read-this-pacrim-au-and-couldnt-stop-thinking)

When Abe walked out of his door the next morning at 0720 hours after returning from a light workout and breakfast, it wasn’t the  _last_  thing he expected to all but step all over Mihashi, but it certainly was low on the list. It was a brief second of vertigo and limbs going in wild arcs in the air before Abe reached out to clutch Mihashi’s shoulder with one hand and the doorframe in the other, finally stabilizing the two of them in a half-muddled mix instead of collapsing on the floor in a tangle of bodies. One heartbeat staring into Mihashi’s wide unblinking eyes to collect himself and figure out what the hell had just happened, and in the next, he felt his jaw clench as his fingers reached up to dig into his temples in a fierce noogie. 

“What the  _hell_  are you doing standing right in my doorway?!” he yelled, eyebrow twitching. “You  _idiot!_  What if I’d fallen on you and you’d sprained something?!”

“I’m s-s-sorry!” Mihashi whimpered back, slowly falling down to his knees when Abe released his hold to put a hand on his chest and try to regulate his breathing back to normal. “I d-didn’t know… didn’t want to go alone… so I… wait outside, thought I would wait outside…”

Abe rubbed his hand over his face, then heaved a sigh and extended an arm down to where Mihashi was quivering on the floor. It wouldn’t do him any good to have a partner too nervous to perform well in front of the Marshal, and yelling at him now would do just that, probably. Order of business number one when they were officially copilots was definitely working on that shitty loser personality. “Come on, let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”

Mihashi sniffled and looked up to Abe’s hand, then reached around and clenched his fingers around Abe’s wrist. It was a tight grip, Abe thought, hauling him up more than he stood, watching as Mihashi released his grip and used his hands to wipe the tears out of his eyes. Hazel eyes blinked, then met Abe’s, and Abe figured that was about as good as he was going to get for now. With a nod, he clasped a hand back on Mihashi’s shoulder as comfortingly as he could manage, though it was probably a little forced given how it definitely felt like he was bullying Mihashi into this.

“Just do what you did yesterday,” he said, causing Mihashi to do that ninety mile an hour nod. Another snappy comment that he chewed down chased up his throat, Mihashi was going to snap his head off one day doing that, then another deep breath and Abe started towards the elevator before Mihashi could do something else stupid. As sneakily as possible, Abe looked down at the reflection of the pitcher in the metal elevator door to gauge his condition, and other than a general jitteriness that Mihashi always seemed to have, he looked fine. Not relaxed, not that eerie calm he had in the middle of a windup, but good enough for the Kwoon Combat Room, and that was what was important.

The elevator came to a stop, and Mihashi stepped out with Abe following behind him. A glance down to his watch showed that they were right on time despite the unexpected train wreck in front of his door, and when he stepped into the Kwoon Combat Room and saw Marshal Momoe standing next to Shinooka, a rush of adrenaline spiked in his body. This was it.

“Good morning!” Momoe greeted, stepping forward and looking down to Mihashi. “So,  this is the one, huh? Mihashi-kun, right?” Mihashi nodded, spine stiff from Momoe’s intimidating aura and probably recalling some horror story that floating around the base to keep new recruits in line. Abe had overheard parts of one involving Hanai and an orange over breakfast, and he couldn’t help the quick glance he snuck at her hands where they clutched her hips tightly. Yeah, he believed it. “How’d you find him?”

“Pitching,” Abe responded, drawing a curious hum out of Momoe. Her eyes were as sharp as the edges of her smile, and it was a little unnerving. He pressed forward, feeling the need to explain himself further under her intimidating gaze. “We came to the Kwoon Combat Room yesterday to confirm it.” She stared a few seconds longer, then nodded firmly.

“All right. Let’s see what you’ve got.” Abe turned immediately towards the bench at the side of the room, stripping off his shirt and folding it on the bench so that he was wearing only his sweats and the white tee shirt. He tucked his shoes underneath, then rolled his arms around, trying hard to contain the excitement bubbling in his gut. This was going to work, and they’d get clearance to start Drifting, and then he’d be in a Jaeger again. He looked over to Mihashi, a complete contrast to his own side of the bench with his shoes kicked wherever and his shirt wadded up in a pile, inside out and dragging on the floor. He was a mess, but he looked good, body lean with muscle Abe knew had the power to put him to the floor. 

Abe walked to the side of the mat and stood across from Mihashi, who inhaled once, slowly, then exhaled and met Abe’s gaze with one of his own. Ah, there it was, Abe recognized; that same intensity he could just imagine on a baseball mound in an eleventh-inning tied game. It had a shiver going down his spine to match that gaze, his fingers tightening in a wave on his pole as he did his own relaxation technique of closing his eyes once and exhaling all the breath in his lungs, slowly. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a twitch in Mihashi’s jaw, and then they were moving.

Just like the previous day, Mihashi stepped forward steadily, eyes wide and focused as he twirled his pole dangerously close to Abe’s but didn’t make contact. Enticed him to make the first move, the first misstep, give up the first point. It was hard not to, Abe thought with gritted teeth, taking a step forward of his own as he saw the split opening he could utilize. A clack of wood, a twist of his wrist, and - ah. 

“Zero, one,” Momoe said when Mihashi’s pole touched Abe’s side in a point-claiming move after he’d disabled Abe’s pole. Abe felt a twinge of pride, because he’d fallen right into Mihashi’s trap even though he’d known it. Mihashi stepped back, as did Abe, and then forward in almost perfect unison. Mihashi’s pole came forward, meeting Abe’s when he lifted his own in a defensive move, and the room was filled with the sound of wood hitting wood as they traded blows. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven steps, Abe’s heart pounding to get blood to every muscle in demand, legs quivering as he forced them to perform perfectly, until finally he’d out-maneuvered Mihashi and had the blond on his back with a loud collapse. An impressed “One, one,” echoed through the air, and Mihashi used Abe’s extended hand to roll back into place upright. 

Mihashi rolled his arms in his sockets, then stood across from Abe, sliding his hands so that they were further apart on his pole than before. Abe stepped forward, toes clenching at the mat and core tightening as Mihashi slid his hands and the pole whipped forward like lightning. Abe barely lifted his own in time to block it, twisting his arms to push Mihashi back. When he blinked again, his vision went cross-eyed to stare at the pole just an inch from his nose. 

“One, two.” Momoe’s voice sounded the end of the round, and Abe stepped back, shooting Mihashi a sour look that earned him a sheepish expression in return. Either Mihashi was someone who performed exceptionally well under pressure, or he’d been pacing himself too well and hadn’t gone all-out the last time they’d sparred. But now his eyes were focused again, pole under his arm as he crouched defensively, all but begging Abe to take the first offense again. Definitely nothing like Haruna, who was a whirlwind of wood that had always pinned Abe to the floor before he could blink, but also nothing like Haruna, as Mihashi’s next victory point stopped right at his throat in an exercise of precise control over his staff. He barely hid his flinch, his body having expected pain and a new bruise to see in the mirror the next morning while shaving, but he blinked into golden eyes, not brown. A surge of irritation, and Abe pressed forward hard, taking back his next point almost ferociously, not because of Mihashi, but because he’d seen just for a second there a hesitation in himself he’d thought he’d left behind in Musashino.

“Whoa, Mihashi-kun is good,” Abe heard Shinooka say to Momoe, earning a hum in response. It was an agreement but nothing more, and suddenly Abe felt a twist of nervousness in his gut. He couldn’t miss a step. He needed to show them that he and Mihashi were Drift Compatible. He needed to get back in a Jaeger. Abe closed his eyes, exhaling completely to re-relax himself, forcing his hands to relax, feeling the tension in his arms instead of his wrists, ready to tackle Mihashi and that infuriatingly effective dance of his. He stepped forward once, then twice, sweeping his feet in elegant curves along the mat, eyes locked on Mihashi’s instead of the pole swinging about in front of his face, and when he clacked forward to stop it, he saw it. The instant Mihashi’s leg came forward, his ankle intending to catch the back of Abe’s knee to send him forward, he reacted. His own leg came up, twisting around, and then he had Mihashi on the ground, couching over him with his legs in a tight lock. Mihashi blinked incredulously at him, then a hiccupy sound came out of his lips and - and, it was a giggle, Abe realized, releasing Mihashi and letting the blond pick up his pole. 

He looked even more focused than before, Abe noted, annoyed by how impressed he was feeling. As if having his technique discovered was  _fun_  for him or something, as if he was  _having_  fun, and then Abe felt the grin on his face, and, well, yeah,  _he_  was having fun. Sweat was trickling down the back of his neck and tickling skin pulled taut to attention, his muscles protesting at how precise he was having to be to keep up with Mihashi’s pin-point movements, his heart beating fast to keep the oxygen surging through at the rates he was forcing his body to endure, but it was true. Each clack of wood echoing through the room released a bit of tension in his body he didn’t even know he had, each smooth movement almost as if it had been choreographed like a dance, and then a split second where he saw an opening, and Mihashi’s eyes opened wide and his body turned just as Abe’s did, and then they both froze. Abe’s pole was hovering at Mihashi’s throat, but there was no point for him to claim, as each heaving breath in his chest caused Mihashi’s pole to brush lightly at the skin of his own throat. A tie.

A sharp clap pulled them apart, and Abe stared as Momoe walked forward, eyes narrowed as her lips curled in a smile that felt more dangerous than it did friendly, though it was a split second before the sensation disappeared and Abe saw only a proud Marshal. “Very good! You’re definitely Drift Compatible. Good job finding him, Abe-kun, and Mihashi-kun, good job yourself! You’re pretty good when you get the right partner, aren’t you?” Mihashi made incoherent noises, causing Momoe to belt out laughter. “Right, okay. I think we should definitely get you two in the Jaeger Combat Simulator right away. Are you two ready to Drift?”

“Yes!” Abe acknowledged, loudly and almost with enough enthusiasm to embarrass himself. It probably would have, had there not been a sinking feeling next to him. When he looked, he saw Mihashi’s face pale, then turn towards the ground as his lips parted and he mumbled something under his breath. “Mihashi, speak up. We can’t hear you when you mumble like that!”

“I s-said… Impossible, I can’t Drift…!” Mihashi repeated through a wailing cry, and in the blink of an eye, Abe’s pole was torn out of his hands and Momoe had Mihashi on the ground via what looked like a pretty painful smack to the ass from the pole. Mihashi froze when Momoe towered over him where he was clenching his head defensively, and Abe decided that he wouldn’t share his own little shudder of intimidation. 

“No Jaeger Pilot of mine is going to have a weak personality like that! Now get up and get in a Divesuit before I change my mind!” Momoe barked, both her and Abe watching as Mihashi squawked some unholy noise before crawling rapid-speed back to his messy pile of things on the bench to grab them up anxiously. Abe exhaled sharply, putting the butt of his hand to his temple. He started to follow Mihashi to get his things as well, but Momoe stopped him with a glance. “As for you, I’m count on you to help Mihashi-kun. He definitely has the skills, but he’s going to need you to help him out.”

“Exactly how am I supposed to do that?” Abe asked, gesturing towards where Mihashi was pulling on his shoes like a little kid, humming to himself while cutting his eyes back over to them every once in a while. Before he could continue, a warm grip tightened over his hand, and he jerked when he saw Momoe clutching his hand firmly in her own. 

“You can do it. I’m counting on you.” Abe stared, mouth open but no sounds coming out besides little protesting noises. Momoe’s eyes were as sharp as blades into his own, unwavering and pressing hard, and Abe suddenly understood exactly how she got her iron will through the base. He was also more curious than ever to hear the orange story from Hanai himself. 

“I’ll do it,” he responded sulkily, and finally she released him, making a pleased little noise to his back as he walked over to grab Mihashi’s pole and put it away since he seemed too occupied trying to get his shirt back on over his head from where he’d forgotten to unbutton the top buttons. Abe rolled his eyes, reaching over and getting Mihashi back into his clothes before pulling his own on. “Come on, Mihashi. We have to go get fitted for Divesuits before we can go to the Simulator.”

Mihashi followed, one step behind, but then with a quick couple of steps, he was at Abe’s side, hands clutching in his shirt as he licked his lips once and cut a glance up to Abe before looking back to the floor. “I’ve… I’m going to do my best,” he said, and Abe reached over to clench his hand in Mihashi’s hair while giving him a grin.

“I’m counting on you,” he said, and whether it was the physical contact or the affirmation, Mihashi started to glow from the inside out, and he nodded only once, silent the rest of the way to the fitting room with a quiet excitement brewing visibly beneath the skin. Abe knew, because he could feel it in himself too, that silent acknowledgement that this was it, he’d gotten over the first hurdle to being a pilot again and after this it was easy.

The Jaeger Combat Simulator was on the same floor as the Kwoon Combat Room, though it was on a separate wing and therefore quite a hike. The raw edge of Abe’s excitement had died by the time the doors swished open, though it was rekindled when he saw Momoe talking to one of the Divesuit technicians about getting them fitted. It was the same feeling he’d gotten sinking into a crouch across from Mihashi after years of not even watching baseball on the television as he walked into a small locker room and stripped away all of his clothes down to his underwear. When he turned to see if Mihashi was done, half-expecting to have to pull him out of his shirt, he was startled when he saw wide eyes staring at his torso, lips pressed tightly together. Suddenly, Abe remembered the network of burn lines, seared into his skin that one time, an electric punishment for dropping out of Drift while still controlling a Jaeger, the excruciating mark that had no physical pain anymore but still burned at night when he went to scratch an itch and felt the raised lines beneath his fingertips. The kind of reminder that made him get out of his showers and look into his fogged mirror with gratitude.

“It’s nothing,” he said to Mihashi, because there was nothing to say, after all. Soon enough, they were going to be sharing each other’s thoughts, after all. There was a chance he’d get a flash of it in the Drift, and even if he didn’t this time, they were going to be working together for a long time. It would come someday. 

Abe walked down the short hall until they were in a small room with lots of people bustling around pulling things out of storage containers and clicking away on little computers and generally being very busy. One came up to Abe with a measuring tape, recording his measurements for their temporary Divesuit. He was eager to get the custom-fit suit he knew he’d get once they officially became pilots, knowing it would fit perfectly and would be colored to match whatever their Jaeger theme was, their team together. He lifted his arms when asked and watched as the technician wrote down all of the numbers on a clipboard before going off to get a Divesuit that would fit. The circuitry wouldn’t match on this one as well as his own, but it would work well enough for the simulations. 

When she came back with a black suit lined with the sensitive electromyograph wiring, he stepped into it carefully. It was a bit tight in the thighs and ass, a little loose around the gut, but otherwise just fine. That catcher’s build, he thought wryly, having caught himself in the gym years ago still doing the exercises to keep himself in prime catching shape despite not touching a field since his first year of high school. The plastic armor came next, the spinal clamp finishing the ensemble as he stepped into the clunky boots in front of him. The last step was the helmet, and he held his breath as it filled with Relay Gel before slowly emptying out. He felt his hands tighten in excitement at his thighs, unable to keep the physical reaction from showing. Mihashi looked nervous, but when he looked at Abe, he nodded.

The two of them walked down the hall to where the Simulator was, and Abe saw what was probably some of the members of LOCCENT collected around the computers. One in particular stood out, as he stood in excitement and bounded over like a gangly puppy when he saw them emerge.

“Mihashi! You’re gonna do it this time!” the blond said before rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I heard from the Marshal that you did really well this morning, and that’s gotta mean something, right? Not that you messed it up before, or…” 

He looked positively flustered, and Abe looked to Mihashi to see that he was either oblivious to it or didn’t care. “No, Hama-chan is right! I’m… I’m being counted on!” 

Momoe walked over, putting a hand on the tall blond’s shoulder before looking to Abe. “This is Hamada Yoshirou, and he’ll be the one to talk you through the Neural Handshake. Hamada, this is Abe Takaya, the pilot that came from Musashino.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Abe said, shaking his hand with the distinct feeling that he was being judged somehow. “You know Mihashi already?”

“Hama-chan lived next to me before!” Mihashi supplied, an unusual glee in his face as he spoke. “In the same apartment complex! We played baseball together, before… before I moved.” Ah, that was it then, Abe decided. Hamada was playing the big brother, then. 

“Okay, you two go on ahead and get in the Simulator, and I’ll cheer you on from out here!” Hamada exclaimed, raising a hand to Mihashi and forcing Abe to witness what was probably the most painfully awkward high-five in his life. Mihashi completely missed, but his face was one of utter delight, and whatever it took to get him relaxed, Abe supposed. Leading the way, Abe walked over to the Simulator and waited for the two doors to open. Inside, the two holsters came down for them to connect into, wires hanging everywhere and a soft light filling the space. It wasn’t a Jaeger, but it was close, and he felt the electricity prickling beneath his skin. It felt good.

While he was standing around appreciating, Mihashi had stepped forward, cautiously starting towards the left side. “Oh, Mihashi, can you take the right?” Abe asked, earning himself a positively scandalized squeak. “I prefer the left, if that’s okay with you.”

“B-But…!” Mihashi started, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “I’ve never…!” It took a second, but Abe pieced together what was probably his objection.

“Oh, don’t worry about all that ‘right hand is the leader’ stuff. We work together in here,” Abe said, and Mihashi hesitated a few breaths longer before he nodded, then stepped from the left side of the Simulator to the right. Abe nodded, taking his place on the left, then clicked his shoes into place as he lined himself up on the rig. Everything automated into place, and he looked over to see that Mihashi was starting to get more tense by the second. “Mihashi, calm down,” he called, drawing wide and borderline panicked golden eyes to his own. “It’s just a simulation.”

“B-but, it’s… it’s a real Drift,” Mihashi retorted. 

“It doesn’t hurt to Drift,” Abe said, and Mihashi shook his head but didn’t say anything else. He turned his head forward and looked to the many screens in front of them, just as the feminine voice filled the room with the countdown to the neural handshake. Then, Hamada’s voice telling them that everything was looking good, and he was going  to initiate the Neural Handshake. “Mihashi, breathe,” Abe said, and Mihashi nodded, closing his eyes. Abe followed suit, listening to the electronic countdown and letting his head fill with nothing but  _five, four, three, two, one -_

What happened next was unlike anything Abe had ever experienced. With Haruna, it was textbook, if uncomfortable because of the steel wall he’d put up to box off the romantic feelings he was hiding from his partner and, if he was honest, from himself. The memories flowing over him like water that didn’t get him wet, slicked off and passed for the next until they were synchronized with their thoughts and emotions. 

He had told Mihashi it didn’t hurt to Drift. He had lied.

It wasn’t quite physical pain. It was a deep ache and a smothering weight of absolute  _nothingness_ , as if he was in a compressed vacuum. And then, from this crushing void, a whisper in his ear that wasn’t a voice but a thought, faster and more insistent until it was hissed in his head over and over again like a dripping poison,  _you don’t exist you don’t exist you dont existy ou d nt exis tyoudontexistyoudontexist -_ Then real pain,  _excruciating_  pain, pain that had him doubling over and clutching his head because maybe he could tear himself apart and not feel anymore, vertigo and nausea punching him in the gut and knocking out his breath, that voice whirring in his head until it became an alarm shrill and intense in his ears. It wasn’t until he realized that the pressure on his body was now from hands and the alarm was from outside that he could open his eyes, and he saw the floor in front of him, and people crowded around. 

An intense wave of nausea had him heaving, someone ripping off his helmet and a bucket, just in time. There was a wet towel in his face, and sobbing, partially from him, and partially from someone else - Mihashi, Abe recognized, looking over to see the blond pressed up against the wall with his knees to his chin, red, tear-streaked face smothered by his hands except where he was peering between his fingers to look at Abe. When their gazes met, Mihashi sobbed hard, fingers reaching up to clench in his hair as he babbled something, stuttering hard around chattering teeth what sounded like  _“I told you so”_ and  _“It’s my fault”,_  and finally Abe pieced himself enough back together to pull into his own body, and he recognized that it was Shiga and what looked like a medic hovering over him and holding him in place, with Momoe hovering in concern nearby and half of LOCCENT staring, shocked, through the door. 

Abe opened his mouth to speak, but the first try resulted in a croak. The medic handed him a bottle of water, and he sipped it slowly, battling the next wave of nausea that made the bucket look a little too appealing. “What… What happened?” he managed, looking to Momoe, who had a frown deeper than the Breach on her face. She looked to Shiga, who looked to where Hamada had been petting Mihashi’s hair. 

“Well, it started out… weird,” Hamada said, standing and tilting his head. “When Tajima and Hanai Drift, they have a few seconds to do the Neural Handshake, which builds up their connection until the bridge is complete and they’re Drifting. But here it was… almost immediate? And like… freakishly high. I think it shot up to ninety some percent in a second or two, but it was hard to tell because you fell out almost immediately.”

Abe stared at Hamada in shock. He fell out of the Drift immediately? It had felt like  _years_  in that painful void, but he’d been right that there had been no Neural Handshake. It had been an immediate connection to…  _nothing_. He looked to Mihashi again, wondering if he was a Blank and that was the explanation, but that didn’t make sense either. Tajima could Drift with anyone, but apparently, Mihashi couldn’t Drift with anyone. And then, Abe grit his teeth as determination filled his gut because damn it he was  _going_  to get in a Jaeger. He shot a barbed look to where Mihashi was still sobbing. “Stop crying! I’m not angry!” That just made Mihashi cry harder, all but pulling his hair out by the roots, and for a second Abe really  _was_  angry, but he forced it down violently. The last thing he needed to do was take out his pain and frustration on someone who definitely couldn’t take it and was his only compatible partner in the base. 

“Shiga-sensei, would you mind if I spoke with you about what happened, to see if I can make it work?” he said, sipping more water as the nausea abated. Shiga blinked at him from behind his glasses, and looked to Momoe for a second. A brief wordless conversation flashed between them, and then Shiga looked to Abe with a kind smile.

“You should go get some rest, but I’ll talk with you this afternoon when you’re ready. You look about like you’re going to faint. Why don’t you go lie down and get some food before we talk about it?” he suggested, and Abe grit past the urge to say  _no damn it I want to talk about it now_ , and instead he nodded and stood on shaky legs. He turned to Mihashi, who flinched and buried his face back into his knees. Before he could say anything, a hand weight heavily on his shoulder, and when he looked, Shiga shook his head silently. Abe took one last look at Mihashi, then sighed. He’d talk to him later, he supposed, and walked his aching body to get the suit removed, and then into the locker room to put his clothes on. His movements were sluggish, his muscles aching from the phantom pain of the Drift, and his head throbbing with each beat of blood that went through it. More than anything, his gut was heavy with the confusion of what had happened, burning with the need to fix it right now, but knowing that neither he nor Mihashi was in any position to do it right away. 

Abe stepped into the hall, figuring that he would probably best be served by grabbing some food to help settle his stomach before taking a short nap in his room. He looked around the hall as he walked, noticing each of the people walking past, then stopped in front of the elevator and pressed the button. While he waited, he slipped his hand into his pocket and clenched the bottle of water tightly, staring at his reflection in the smooth metal. He really did look like shit, he thought, taking in his sort of greenish-pale complexion with a wince. His eyes had the kind of bags under them that made him look like he hadn’t slept since puberty, lips pressing hard together. He stared until the door opened, then stepped inside and pressed the button for the floor where the cafeteria was. 

Slowly, Abe realized that his heart rate was elevating despite the fact that he was leaning against the wall next to him. He frowned, and closed his eyes so he could slow his breathing and calm himself down. As soon as he saw the blackness of his eyelids, however, a jolt of panic struck his heart. Sudden weight crushed in from all sides, smothering him and  _he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe!_  His heart hammered in his chest as frigid sweat started to prick at his skin, nails digging into his skin and then stark pain at his knees as he collapsed.  _What’s happening what’s going on?!_  He opened his eyes and clawed at the number pad on the elevator wall. He needed to get out of the elevator or he was going to die. He was going to  _die_  if the door didn’t open right away. He must have already died, there was nothing there, he didn’t exist he  _didn’t exist you don’t exist you dont exist you dontexistyoudontexistyoudontexist -_

_“… e…_ be… Abe…!” 

Abe opened his eyes to see a shirt pressed hard against his forehead, and he made a motion to jerk back when he realized that there were hands clutched on his shoulders. His body ached with how hard he was shaking, his muscles singing with tension as he pulled back and saw Sakaeguchi’s concerned face hovering above his own. Palms pressed into his cheeks, and they were like fire against his skin. “There you go. Calm down and look at me. You’re okay. You’re here and you’re fine. Just breathe.”

He was almost scared to close his eyes, but he did, and slowly, Abe took the shuddering excuse of a breath and replaced it with deep inhales that smelled of rotor oil and cheap soap. It was ten thousand years of one step after another to come down, but eventually, his heart slowed down, and he was able to blink into view Sakaeguchi’s reassuring smile that was thinned by curiosity. “Where are we?” Abe asked, looking around, and Sakaeguchi patted his head comfortingly.

“Not too far from the Shatterdome. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I was on my way to lunch when I found you curled up in a ball outside the elevator. Is… is it something you want to talk about?” 

“Yes,” Abe responded almost immediately, because now that he was removed from the panic, he could think straight. “If you don’t mind. I don’t think I can be alone right now.”

Sakaeguchi tilted his head, sitting down properly instead of kneeling as he peered into Abe’s face. “What happened? It looks pretty bad. I got anxiety attacks like that after my mom died, so I’ll try to see if I can help you out with it.”

Abe shook his head, looking around for the water bottle. He screwed off the top, took a deep swig, then wiped the back of his mouth with his forearm, staring at the floor between them silently. “I tried to Drift with Mihashi just now,” he said finally, realizing that talking made his heart rate go down even more, startling himself with the realization that he was still feeling the pull of anxiety even after he could breathe again. 

“I’m guessing from your tone that it didn’t go so well. But, didn’t he not get picked because he can’t Drift?” Sakaeguchi asked, and Abe brought the water bottle up to his mouth and held it there, bringing his eyes to Sakaeguchi’s hands and noticing that they were clean despite the heavy smell of rotor oil. Probably where the cheap soap smell had come from, Abe thought. And he thought about it, about how Mihashi told him he couldn’t Drift with anyone. He hadn’t taken him seriously, thought that maybe he’d just never had a Drift Compatible partner before. He’d never thought to ask, he realized. Abe was good enough to make up for a second-rate partner, after all. But even that felt wrong as an image of white chalk on a black wall flashed in his mind, and every shiver he’d ever gotten standing across from a golden gaze pinning him to the mat.

“I didn’t believe it,” Abe admitted carefully. “We’re Drift Compatible. I feel it. He feels it. Marshal Momoe saw it this morning in the Kwoon Combat Room. But when it came time to Drift, it…” Abe trailed off, hands clenching in his sweatpants at the knee. He felt his shoulders tighten at the memory of the Drift, so unlike any he’d ever done. “It was horrifying. It was like… I got this feeling like I didn’t exist. I was in a void of nothingness, and it was smothering.” He pulled the water bottle back to his mouth again, taking a long drink in the silence that stretched between them. “Apparently, the Drift was immediate, and only lasted a second or so before I dropped out, which hurts like a bitch, by the way. And now I’m having these panic attacks, on top of everything.”

Sakaeguchi’s lips twitched into a frown. “When you Drift, aren’t you sharing your partner’s thoughts and stuff?” Abe nodded, about to open his mouth to tell Sakaeguchi that that was for  _normal_  Drifts, not these fucked up ones that apparently came with Mihashi as a copilot, but before he could, Sakaeguchi continued. “Doesn’t that mean… that what you felt is what Mihashi feels?”

It was as if Sakaeguchi had blown out a candlelight. Abe didn’t even recognize he’d dropped his water bottle until he felt the wetness at the leg of his sweatpants, but even then, he stared, eyes wide and a slow claw of horror piercing his chest. But then he shook his head fiercely, because he was an experienced pilot, and he knew better than to go chasing a rabbit, and that hadn’t been a R.A.B.I.T., it had been something with a fucked up Drift because Mihashi couldn’t Drift… hadn’t it? But still, the thought that… what if it was, what if that strange immediacy of their Drift had messed him up, what if he’d chased a rabbit into Mihashi’s brain, what if that fucked up void was some kind of twisted rabbit hole he’d fallen into? Abe covered his face with his hands, because he felt the wetness in his eyes and trembling in his lips, and he wasn’t sure he wanted Sakaeguchi to see.

“Don’t leave me alone right now,” he whimpered into his palms. Sakaeguchi’s calming response was a soft touch to the crown of his head.

 


	5. enlightenment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think y'all will be quite happy with this chapter. 8)

The sound of an alarm jerked Hanai out of an unintentional nap, though the significant weight in his lap kept him from moving too far right away. It took only a few seconds for him to wake up enough to realize that it wasn’t just any alarm, but an alarm telling the base one important thing: there was movement in the breach. A Kaiju was coming.

“Tajima!” Hanai grunted, shoving his copilot off his lap ungently to the floor, mostly on accident. Tajima sat up slowly, blinking into the dark room where the only light was from the menu screen of the dvd they’d fallen asleep to, then swiftly rolling onto his feet  with a curl of his tight stomach as the energy seemed to pierce his thick skull finally. He usually was the one sliding out of his top bunk and all-but jumping on Hanai when the alarm came in the night, exploding with the kind of bundled energy that never really died down.

“What type is it?” he said to Hanai without really expecting an answer, climbing over their couch to the projection screen next to their beds and watching the alert as it flew by. “Category III, codename Blue Sprinter,” he reported, whipping over to Hanai and stepping out of the sweatpants as he hopped over to where their cargo suits were hanging on a hook Hanai had put there after getting tired of yelling at Tajima for putting his on the bathroom door. His toned chest and stomach disappeared beneath a grey shirt, Tajima’s small hands reaching down his collar to pull his dog tags through so they clinked against each other on his chest. “Sounds tough!”

“Shut up and get changed,” Hanai snapped, zipping his suit up and looking around for his jacket. He grabbed his set of keys and buried them deep in his pockets, then looked to where Tajima was pulling on his own jacket. His back was facing Hanai, giving him an eyeful of their team logo of two baseball bats marked with the words STRIKER CLEANUP forming the crossbones beneath a Kaiju skull, a sight that still gave him proud chills as he watched Tajima’s fingers reappear through the second sleeve. Tajima turned on a dime and sped out the door with a whoop, leading the charge from their room to the hallway with the heavy click behind them. 

The alarm was just as obnoxious in the hallway, driving people into running around as Tajima and Hanai carefully but quickly made their way to the elevator. Once inside, Hanai looked down as a soft weight pressed into his side, catching an eyeful of Tajima’s excited grin as Tajima leaned against him to get his attention. “Ne, ne, how big do you think it is? I didn’t watch it long enough to see.” 

“I didn’t take note, but with a name like Blue Sprinter, it’s gotta be fast, right?” Hanai said, stepping out in unison with Tajima when the doors slid open to let them out  into the hall and paying only half attention to Tajima’s excited babbling about how they could take the Kaiju down. As they approached the door of the locker room, Hanai looked to Tajima and felt the familiar adrenaline-fueled excitement when his copilot’s lips finally stopped forming words and instead curled around the kind of grin that had his stomach in his throat.

“Ready to kick ass?” Tajima asked, lifting his left arm at the same time that Hanai lifted his right, their palms pressing together before gripping into a tight hold as Hanai felt the wicked grin rising on his face to match his partner’s. It was impossible not to feel the electric energy when Tajima got like this, Hanai thought hopelessly, following him in the locker room to strip down and pull on their black electromyograph suits. It slipped on with just a hint of tightness, enough so that his muscle movements would be picked up by the circuitry but not so much that it was uncomfortable. Maybe it had been in the beginning, before he had gotten used to it, but Hanai couldn’t even remember a time when it didn’t feel right to zip up and look across the room to see Tajima waiting for him.

Tajima kept to his left as they walked into the gear room, standing still as the attendants placed their black hard armor on over the stretchy black suit, then completing with the clunky boots and the spinal clamp as the whirring sound of pieces being attached to his body filled the room alongside quick chatter and electronic beeps. Hanai pulled his helmet over his head, keeping his eyes closed until the Relay Gel had fully emptied and left him with the Divesuit perfectly in place. A glance to Tajima had his eyes locking with his partner’s, and he felt his lips curl just as he saw Tajima’s do the same. It had frightened him at one time, being so in sync with someone else, but now it was as natural as breathing. 

When they entered the head of their Jaeger, Hanai walked around to the right and clicked his shoes into place. The mechanisms of the rig curled around and drilled into place, until finally he was connected to the machine from head to toe. He rolled his head around on his shoulders just as Hamada’s voice echoed through the machinery in front of them. “Engaging drop. Marshal Momoe on deck. Securing the pod and ready to drop.” There was the sound of machinery clicking into place outside the pod, and Hanai watched the screen for the progress report. 

Once all the lights were green, he reached up, pressing the comm button for LOCCENT. “Pod secured. Striker Cleanup, ready for drop.” There was a hitch, and then vertigo as the pod dropped down the chute towards the body of their Jaeger. Tajima laughed next to him, face bright with delight as they slowed and connected with the machinery beneath them. The Jaeger hummed to life, each system coming up green as they aligned and the transport moved towards the bay door in front of them. “Striker Cleanup, ready and aligned.”

As he leaned back and the feminine voice of the Jaeger alerted them that all systems were green, and then he felt his spine straighten unconsciously as another voice came over the LOCCENT control. “Good afternoon, Tajima-kun, Hanai-kun. Get ready for Neural Handshake.”

“Fifteen seconds,” Hamada said, counting down. Hanai felt Tajima’s eyes on him and he looked over as well, earning himself a wink before Tajima leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Hanai exhaled deeply, doing the same, the Jaeger’s A.I. confirming the initiation of the Neural Handshake. Hanai felt the pull on his mind, and then the few seconds that he was in Tajima’s mind and Tajima was in his - 

_( “ - thought you were there, Yuu, to be honest,” his mother said, and he couldn’t see her face because his own was buried in the fur of his cat. He didn’t want her to see that he’d been crying, and it’s not like he could play it off like an allergy to the cat hair, not when he’d begged so hard to get her - ) ( - the feel of the bat between his tightening fingers, staring at his grip, memorizing how it felt to hold it like this, then looking to the pitcher, eyes analyzing every muscle contraction and then a pitch that was like a wet dream, his body bursting with lightning energy as he pulled forward and connected, and that sweet, sweet sound of the ball going out, and maybe this time, maybe, heart pounding and high in his throat only to fall when it was too short,_ he _was too short, he’d_ never  _hit a home run after all because this was his last game before the academy, and - ) ( - pin him against the windows of the meeting room so he could see their Jaeger when he fucked him, whining a bit as he slipped two fingers deep inside this time, curling around and getting him ready and God, Azusa was so fucking hot like this, hands pressed against the glass and breath fogging with each desperate pant of his name, why couldn’t this happen for real, ahhh no, he needed to get back into the fantasy, think about what it would be like to lick him from cock to throat and back down again, what it would feel like to drive him hard against the glass and then make him lick his own cum off the windows knowing someone could look up from the bay and see them like this - ) ( - pinning Abe to the ground, watching those funny-looking droopy eyes get all wide and impressed like, but they flickered over to the door, frustration clear on his face, and Tajima knew that look, he remembered seeing it in the mirror before he found Hanai; it was the look of thirsting to be in a Jaeger, being so close he could practically taste the stale leftover of the Drift on his tongue, but without a partner, he was nothing. Gratitude for Azusa being at his side - )_

“Neural Handshake strong as ever,” Hamada confirmed, and Hanai exhaled sharply as he let Tajima’s mind settle with his own. He swallowed past the comment he had regarding some of the things he’d seen just then, partly because he could feel the heat in his face as it was and he didn’t want to make it worse, and partly because it was pointless, because he could feel Tajima’s slight embarrassment and significant amusement as strong as if it were his own.

“You have to admit, it would be totally hot.”

“Tajima, I swear to  _God_ ,” Hanai grunted, raising his right hand as Hamada calibrated the right hemisphere. It clicked into place as smoothly as ever, the Jaeger moving with him and feeling familiar, like a heavy blanket pressing on his skin at every place and following his motions. Tajima mirrored his actions, and they clicked every last system into place, clapping their hands together at the very end as the screen showed that the calibration was complete and ready to go. 

“Kaiju, Category III, code name Blue Sprinter. It’s moving fast, so be careful you two,” Hamada reported, followed by Momoe and her orders.

“Hanai-kun, Tajima-kun, your orders are to engage the Kaiju Blue Sprinter off the coast and keep it from getting up the shore. We’ve got Tokyo and Saitama at our backs, so watch the speed and take it down,” Momoe said, and Hanai reached up to press the LOCCENT comm button.

“Roger. Striker Cleanup, moving to engage target.” He released the button, Tajima’s overwhelming excitement mixing with his own careful judgement, and when he looked at his partner, he saw the kind of eyes that gave him shivers when he thought about them: hot and sharp and paired with a body that was as capable of handling an alien invader as any Hanai had ever seen. “Ready to drop him?” 

“Like a sack of Kaiju shit!” Tajima confirmed, laughing Hanai rolled his eyes at the unnecessary crassness. 

Striker Cleanup was designed to be fast, and the machine moved with his leg movements as well as if he were walking himself. Eyes trained on the ocean before him, flicked up to the screen and taking note of the red blip on the map. It was coming towards the shore, not quite directly for them but close, and definitely faster than any Kaiju they’d ever gone up against before. “Hanai, get the bat ready,” Tajima said, and Hanai didn’t have to ask why or was he sure. Tajima had already done the calculations for when the Kaiju would get to them, and not only did Hanai know better than to question Tajima on something like this, he’d seen every flicker of subconscious numbers up close and personal.

“Engaging metal bat,” Hanai said, moving the Jaeger’s arm down to grip the long pole that was attached to its side. It was several tons of metal, heavy and weighted at the tip for maximum battery potential. Their primary weapon, it had contributed to the name of their Jaeger, their design, and was also a perfect fit for the two of them, clean-up batters in a high school baseball life long abandoned. It had felt right, getting into that Jaeger with Tajima. Felt like destiny.

“Kaiju, eight hundred meters,” Hanai read from the screen, focusing his eyes now on the visual in front of him instead of the sensitive machinery. He could see the ocean billowing above the body of the Kaiju swimming swiftly towards them, and he and Tajima moved in sync to get their bat in a readied position. Just as Hanai felt the familiar burn in his thighs, eyes wide and staring out into the ocean, there was a horrible roar and the ocean parted in huge waves as the Kaiju stood on the ocean floor when he reached the edge. It was tall and gangly with two large horns following the curve of its jawline, legs long and strong. It started to charge forward, reaching out hands that were clawed and webbed, and Hanai felt the electricity dance just beneath his skin. 

“Hit!” Tajima yelled, and the two of them moved their bodies to bring the bat cracking against Blue Sprinter’s head. They connected with the horn on the right side of the Kaiju’s skull, following through and sending it to the ocean with a large crash. It got up quickly, and Hanai gritted his teeth as the thought came from Tajima’s head to his own.

“Those damn horns,” he agreed, spotting the fracture in the hard body part. They’d taken out more than one Kaiju in a single hit with that move, but Blue Sprinter was already charging them with outstretched claws. “Move it!”

Striker Cleanup moved to the right, and Hanai moved with Tajima as they brought the bat from the left to crack it into the Kaiju’s jaw from beneath. It would have been a final hit, but Blue Sprinter’s arm curled and kept them from getting the clean contact needed to end it. It clutched the bat tightly, then shoved hard with its shoulder. 

Hanai felt the air get knocked out of him when they were tossed back, Tajima’s own grunt of pain following. With a hard exhale, Hanai stepped forward with Tajima, both lifting their right arms as Striker Cleanup reached up and grabbed the Kaiju by the cracked horn. With a hard jerk, they pulled, and the Kaiju released a scream of pain as the horn broke off jaggedly, sending Tajima and Hanai falling back with the momentum. 

“Bat!” Tajima roared, gripping tight with their left hands as they tossed it to the right and brought it down in a swift motion against the now-exposed Kaiju skull. Blue Sprinter dodged, leaping at Striker Cleanup and catching it at its midsection. Hanai felt the vertigo, and then they hit the ocean floor on their back hard. Pain blossomed at his spine, but he reacted when he saw movement, bringing up his right arm in front of his face and blocking the Kaiju’s clawed hand from gripping their pod. Every muscle in his body contracted as he shoved hard, hearing Tajima’s strained cry as they moved in unison to curl a leg forward and kick Blue Sprinter off. There was an alarm going off in the pod, some system or another in distress from being crushed beneath the Kaiju, but they stood against the rushing of the ocean from where Blue Sprinter had rolled upon landing. 

Hanai spotted their bat on the map using its locator, and he bent down to grip it tight as Blue Sprinter slowly picked itself up onto four limbs. Kaiju Blue was dripping from its skull into the ocean, spreading around in a toxic sludge, and Hanai felt Tajima’s agreement in the back of his head.  _This is the last move_. Pulling the bat up, Hanai and Tajima moved forward, running at the Kaiju and then swinging hard with a shout that was part pain from moving bruised muscles and part victory, watching as the Kaiju took the full blow to the side of its head and collapsed to the side. Blue Sprinter had been eliminated.

“Kaiju signal is lost. Good job, Striker Cleanup. Come on home,” Hamada said, and Hanai exhaled in relief. The ache in his back flared as the adrenaline from being in battle died down, and each step towards the base was filled with his own grunts of pain and Tajima’s flowering excitement.

“Ohhhh, that was so cool, Hanai! I wish they video taped us so we could see ourselves in action!” Tajima babbled, and Hanai could feel his frustration in the back of his mind that he couldn’t move his arms while he talked because they were still hooked up to the Jaeger. “That one was tough, though. We’ve never had one quick enough to pin us like that before.”

“Yeah,” Hanai agreed, stepping onto the transport platform so their Jaeger could be trucked back to its place in the holding bay. He exhaled a bit, and he felt a thread of concern coming from Tajima’s side of the Drift. “It’s okay, just a bruised back. Nothing a bath won’t fix.” He closed his eyes and pictured how good it would feel to sink into that hot water and let everything relax, but there was a whiplash of heat from Tajima, and then, a flashed image of himself reclining in a bath not so relaxed, hands curling in dark hair that was just beneath the surface of the steamy water, and a probing curiosity of what it would be like to suck his cock in the bath, if Hanai would roll his hips into Tajima’s mouth or if he’d be still and quivery like he was when Tajima snuck touches all the other times of the day, and how long could Tajima hold his breath, could he make Hanai come before he needed to come up for air or would his lungs burn out too fast, and - “ _Tajima!”_

“Ahahaha, whoops,” Tajima hummed, though Hanai saw the way Tajima was barely suppressing his grin and knew that it had  _definitely_  not been an accident. His eyes were sparkling with mischief, and it was almost a joy when they released the Drift and separated once again, though it always felt a little lonely in his head for a few moments when he felt Tajima withdraw. Tajima stripped off his helmet, shaking his head and getting cooling drops of sweat everywhere. Definitely glad they weren’t in the Drift anymore, Hanai thought, taking a moment longer to look away from the flushed arc of Tajima’s neck than was really comfortable to admit even to himself.

They left the Jaeger pod and had their armor taken by the busy technicians, then slowly moved back into the locker room to strip off their electromyograph suits. Hanai winced as he pulled his from his arms down to hang at his waist, only to freeze when there was a soft pressure on his back. He looked over his shoulder to see Tajima standing there, face carefully blank and curiously devoid of any humor. 

“That’s a pretty nasty bruise,” Tajima said, voice as flat as his expression, and before Hanai could think of anything to say, he was pulling away, turning to finish pull off the black suit off his own body, back carefully facing Hanai. Hanai turned, standing still for a moment as he tried to analyze what had just happened but couldn’t past the lingering sensation of Tajima’s palm pressed against his abused skin. Then, with an irritated sigh, he pulled off the suit and hung it in his locker, pulling on his boxers and zipping up the cargo suit. He was too hot for his jacket now, but he pulled it on anyway, knowing that once he had Team Striker Cleanup’s logo splayed proudly against his back, he’d feel better. He was right.

Tajima led the way down the hall to the meeting room and Hanai followed, knowing that Momoe and Shiga would already be waiting for them for their debriefing. The door opened with a twist of Tajima’s wrist, and Hanai stepped into the large room that was all glass windows on the side facing the holding bay for the Jaegers. There was a single table inside surrounded by chairs, a screen for meetings, and minimal decoration of Kaiju the base had taken down in its days. More than one had been thanks to him and Tajima, Hanai thought with a curl of satisfaction, examining the artist renditions of the Kaiju proudly. 

As he’d expected, as it had happened every other time, Momoe was standing at the far end of the table, Shiga next to her with Ai in his arms, tail wagging slightly when Hanai stepped in and then with more enthusiasm when she saw Tajima. Hanai tried his best not to roll his eyes, because really it was probably silly to get jealous that even the dog liked Tajima better, so instead, he looked to Momoe and gave her his best posture with the bruise on his back keeping him from straightening too much.

“Good job! That was a smooth run,” Momoe congratulated, eyes sharp as she went from him to Tajima, then back again. “How did it go on your end?”

“It was super fast!” Tajima said, leaning closer to Hanai as he faced Momoe. “We’ve never had a Kaiju pin us like that before! We’d be toast if Hanai hadn’t reacted in time!” Momoe looked over to Hanai approvingly, and he tried to pretend like he didn’t feel the heat on his cheeks from getting praised by his copilot. He focused his gaze on Momoe, who nodded and turned to the screen. With a click of a remote, she had it on, showing a map of the area. 

“It definitely was faster than any of the other Kaiju we’ve dealt with here. There was one in Australia a bit faster than Blue Sprinter, but they’re bigger than us, too. It’ll be a huge relief once we have Abe-kun and his copilot with you two,” Momoe said, folding her arms beneath her breasts as she studied the map.

“When will Big Windup be ready for action?” Tajima asked, tilting his head. “And didn’t Abe already have his partner? Mihashi?” 

Momoe’s face pulled into a frown, and next to her, Shiga spoke. “If Abe goes with Mihashi, it will be a while before they’re combat ready. Mihashi is good, but they can’t Drift. However, I’m hoping that I can come up with a way for them to make it work.” His face then lightened. “As for Big Windup, it should be ready for action in a few days. Of course, no matter who Abe has as a copilot, it will be some time before they will join you on the field, since Abe will have to pair up with someone with no experience.”

“Well, I think Abe should use Mihashi, because Mihashi is a pitcher, right? Then we’d all be baseball players, and that’s really cool!” Hanai slapped a hand to his face, reaching over to grip Tajima’s hair and tug.

“There’s more to piloting a Jaeger than playing baseball!” 

“Well, it works for us, right?” Tajima asked, blinking up at Hanai as if  he was saying something that made complete, logical sense. Hanai was about to grab Tajima and toss him out the window when Momoe’s laugh rolled over them, and she looked at the door with a devious curl to her smile.

“You may be right, Tajima-kun,” she said, looking to Shiga with a silent conversation going between the two of them. Momoe then nodded once, firmly, turning back to Hanai and Tajima with a straight spine. “Well! Go get cleaned up and recover from a good fight. I’ll have Mizutani-kun send you a report about Striker Cleanup’s status as soon as he’s finished, and then you two are to resume your normal schedule tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Hanai said in sync with Tajima, watching as Momoe and Shiga left, Tajima waving goodbye to Ai and getting one last tail wag in response. As soon as she was gone, Hanai relaxed, wincing as his back pulled with the pain. 

“You know what would help you feel better?” Tajima said, and Hanai looked at him wearily, because he had been in Tajima’s head long enough to know what  _Tajima_  thought made people feel better, and - “Tickles!”

Hanai made a completely undignified noise as Tajima ran wiggly fingers up and down his sides, limbs moving in ways that he was not completely in control of, and, “S-s-stop! Stop, Taji -  _ma!_   _Stop -_!” Hanai flailed as Tajima pressed on, grinning and definitely  _not_  stopping, until Hanai’s body finally jerked in coordination to make the tickling end, and there was a rush of air against his face and Hanai froze when wide cinnamon eyes locked with his, Tajima’s hands pinned next to his head beneath Hanai’s gripping hands, body pressed against glass windows that Hanai recognized all-too well from their Drift. Judging from the sudden stillness beneath him, he was not alone in his awareness.

Every inch of them where they touched was very suddenly on Hanai’s immediate focus, from where his leg was between Tajima’s, hips not touching but close, chests pressed hard enough together that Hanai could feel the moment Tajima’s heart started to pound, except then he saw Tajima lick his lips nervously, and he couldn’t think past the wetness he was close enough to see, glistening on lips that parted on a quivering breath that traced his jaw like a caress. He felt his hands tighten on Tajima’s wrists, felt his body move closer, heard the hitch in Tajima’s inhale when their hips finally came into contact, just enough for Hanai to feel the minute twitch of Tajima’s in reined excitement. And then, slowly, inquisitively, Tajima moved his legs, closing them around Hanai’s thigh between them and trembling when Hanai bit his lip hard to keep in a groan. He didn’t need a Drift to know what those thighs were asking him, and his blood was pounding hard enough in his veins that he couldn’t hear the reasons why it was a bad idea.

The first arch of his hips into Tajima’s earned him a soft whimper, Tajima’s forehead pressing into his and bringing his eyes to see that Tajima’s were closed. The second had Tajima’s brows furrowing, a sharp inhale through his nose as his teeth pulled at his lower lip, dragging and then releasing on a broken exhale of Hanai’s name. On the third, Hanai moved harder, leaning in closer and letting the hardness in his cargo suit leave a lasting impression. Tajima’s fingers curled into fists above where Hanai was holding them, pulse jolting beneath Hanai’s fingertips. And then, Tajima’s eyes opened, blown almost black with arousal, and Hanai swallowed the thick groan as he shoved his hips against Tajima’s to press him hard into the window. Tajima’s head jerked up, lips reaching for Hanai’s, but he hovered, only letting Tajima taste his breath as he slowly rubbed, then thrusted again to earn a gasp of his name.

“If anyone is going to get fucked against this window,” Hanai whispered, voice low and jagged against Tajima’s jaw, “it’s you.” 

“ _Please,_ ” Tajima mewled, curling a leg as much as he could around Hanai’s hips as he desperately tried to move against the hold pinning him to the window, shivering in his skin as Hanai gripped his hands even harder. Hanai moved them up, holding both wrists tightly in one hand above Tajima’s head, then snaking his hand to Tajima’s throat. He slowly pulled the zipper down on Tajima’s cargo suit, exposing a throat swallowing hard, a stomach contracting on each pulse of a painful erection, and then boxers, stained and wet. Hanai hissed a slow  _fuck_  against Tajima’s mouth, still not kissing as his fingers reached beneath the waistband to grip Tajima’s cock hard, until Tajima wailed, “ _Azusa_!” 

Hanai felt the word down to his own dripping cock, moved his palm hard and tight to where Tajima was wet and sticky, thumbed the slit and gripped his right arm tight when he felt Tajima jerk to get free. “Azusa, please, I wanna - ”

“This is what you get for earlier,” Hanai said, taking the wet hand out of Tajima’s boxers and bringing it up to his own zipper. Tajima watched, face flushed and whole body shivering, as Hanai reached with cum-slick fingers and slid the zipper down, a trail of wetness following, and then he was reaching down to pull his boxers down and bring out his own dick, just as throbbing as Tajima’s had been in his hand. Tajima arched his hips forward, thighs tightening around Hanai’s, and then he whimpered when Hanai touched himself, at first softly, collecting the precum at the head and spreading it around, and then harder, stroking himself and leaning forward to suck hard at Tajima’s throat. He gripped himself tight, pumping slowly as he suckled and drug his teeth like he’d always wanted to, at this skin here that was always so tantalizing, inhaling the scent he could smell from a distance but not taste beneath his tongue like this. He groaned, then pulled back, pressing his forehead against Tajima’s and rubbing their noses together. “Watch me,” he ordered, and Tajima’s eyes dropped to where his hand was stripping faster, shaking beneath Hanai, his dick jumping every so often as Hanai panted out harder, his eyes feeling so heavy but refusing to shut at the sight of Tajima enraptured like this. His hips jerked forward as he fucked his hand, body moving and burning until he could feel it coming, he was three strokes, two, one - 

“ _Fuck, T-Tajima_ ,” he stuttered, gripping himself as he came, hot, dripping on Tajima’s stomach, on his purpling cock, on his shirt, his right hand tightening on Tajima’s wrists and body arching into each wave of ecstasy. His chest was heaving with each breath, blood pounding in his ears as he tried to remember how to breathe, and when he opened his eyes, he saw Tajima, silently begging for release, and the dark hickey at his throat. With his free hand, Hanai tucked himself back into his boxers, zipped up his cargo suit, and finally released Tajima, whose hands fell and plastered against the window as he sagged, eyes wide and wild on Hanai’s face. 

“H… Hanai…?” 

Hanai lifted his hand and ran his tongue along his wrist where he’d gotten a little messy, not particularly because he’d wanted to but knowing how it would effect Tajima. As expected, Tajima’s eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face, and Hanai could see the instant it settled in just what his punishment was, his copilot’s head falling back against the glass even as his eyes locked with Hanai’s, a pitiful whimper coming from between abused lips. 

“N-no way, are you really…? Hanaiiii,” Tajima wailed, and Hanai took a few steps back before turning, stepping out into the hall with heavy movements. Once the door was shut behind him, he fell back against the wall, slowly sliding down as he pressed his hands against his hot face, pretty sure a hole could open up in the floor and eat him up and he’d be completely okay with it. 

\----------

Abe walked into his room just long enough to turn and take a look at the map next to his door, flipping through until he found the place marked as Shiga’s office. It was probably a stretch, he figured, as he’d only ever seen the man in a conference room and walking around the base, but after hearing the alarm go off for a Kaiju attack and jerking into action before remembering that he wasn’t a pilot anymore, he couldn’t  _not_  go, especially after poor Sakaeguchi had spent his entire lunch hour babying him until he felt all right to go into the elevator by himself again. The whispering derealization had faded, and it was then that Abe admitted to himself that Sakaeguchi had probably been right, but that had made his confusion - and need to speak to Shiga immediately - even worse. 

As expected, Shiga was not in his office when Abe finally reached it after an elevator ride and stroll down several halls. Abe stared at the nameplate next to the door as he thought about where to look next, when a high-pitched bark caught his attention. Looking over his shoulder, Abe saw Momoe and Shiga walking with Ai, who had seen Abe and darted forward in excitement. 

“Ah, Abe-kun, I see you’re feeling a bit better,” Momoe said as Abe knelt down to rub Ai between her ears. “I suspect you’re here to talk to Shiga?” 

“Yes,” Abe said, straightening and looking at the researcher. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to talk to you about the Drift earlier.” 

“Sure. Come on in,” Shiga said, and Momoe disappeared with a smile and Ai on her heels, leaving Abe to follow Shiga into his office. It was large and lined with books and various instruments, a large desk with papers collected neatly to either side of what looked like an incredibly advanced computer making the focal point of the room. “Take a seat, Abe,” Shiga said, gesturing towards the plush chair in front of the desk and taking the seat behind it for himself. He folded his arms, leaning on the desk and looking at Abe through his glasses. “Describe for me what happened.”

Abe nodded, looking at his knees and mentally putting himself back in the moment before he spoke. “From the beginning, it was weird,” he said, fingers curling in his pants. “Normally, there’s the Neural Handshake, and then the Drift, but… with Mihashi, it was like… there was pressure, all over, which isn’t weird, but it was… heavier? Than normal?” Abe leaned over his knees, frowning at his inability to describe the peculiar sensation. “Almost immediately, it was like I was in a void, and I felt… invisible. Like… like I didn’t exist anymore.” 

“And that was when you fell out of the Drift?” Shiga asked, and Abe nodded slowly.

“Apparently, though it felt like a very long time. And it hurt. A lot.” 

Shiga hummed under his breath, folding his fingers and leaning against them as he thought. “The numbers were… staggering, to be honest. It was an immediate synchronization of almost ninety six percent. You don’t normally see numbers like that outside of twins, or people who have Drifted together for long periods of time.” Abe looked up at Shiga to see the older man with a carefully neutral expression. “There was no Neural Handshake, either, it seems. I wonder if perhaps that was why you had a hard time with it.”

“What do you mean?” Abe asked, his brow furrowing deeper. “How is the Neural Handshake supposed to do anything with a weird Drift like that?”

“That’s just it,” Shiga said, opening his eyes and looking at Abe. “What if it wasn’t the Drift that was the problem? Normally, the Neural Handshake is an escalation of shared memories until the two pilots share an equal portion of a neural load to pilot a Jaeger. Say, hypothetically, that there was an immediate connection. The two pilots would have a difficult time finding an equal balance between one another for the neural load, and the Drift would be unequal. For example, one pilot may be overwhelmed by extremely positive or negative memories of the other pilot, or what we normally would think of as a R.A.B.I.T. experience in a normal Drift.”

“But Mihashi said he can’t Drift. And why wouldn’t we have a Neural Handshake?” 

Shiga shook his head. “I can’t answer that, I’m afraid, but I think perhaps Mihashi said he can’t Drift because that’s exactly true - he can’t. In the normal manner, that is.” Abe felt lost, not grasping what Shiga was trying to say and feeling his frustration mount. “It would take a significant amount of practice and trust between two people to be able to perfect that kind of Drifting, without a Neural Handshake. They would truly have to be of one mind and spirit.”

Abe froze, that phrase striking something Sakaeguchi had told him. Something about the connection between pitcher and catcher, or something… “So… if Mihashi learns to trust me, then we can Drift?” he asked, hesitating when he saw Shiga’s pointed smile.

“Not just that Mihashi has to learn to trust you, but that you have to learn to trust Mihashi, too,” he said, causing Abe to scowl. “How do you see Mihashi, Abe? Is he a stranger? A partner? A tool to get you into a Jaeger? These thoughts are in your mind, and they are projected in the Drift. How you feel about your partner is shared when you connect your minds, and if there isn’t complete trust, then the connection will eventually break down and, worst case, you’ll fall out of the Drift in the middle of a fight.” 

Abe’s hand reached up, clenching at his left side beneath his shirt, pressing on lines that burned hot at Shiga’s words. Yes, he had experienced first hand that anything less than an open Drift could do that. He knew better than anyone that hiding was impossible. He also knew it was impossible to get someone’s trust in just a few days. “How do I get him to trust me?” Abe asked, looking up at Shiga, the question  _how do I trust him_  heavy on the back of his throat and going unsaid.

Shiga stared at him for a long couple of moments, and then straightened to sit up in his chair, a smile warm on his face. “I think, perhaps, you should go and take a walk and then sleep on it. The answer will come to you.”

Abe tried his best to hide the annoyance for the half-assed answer on his face, but judging from the amused glint in Shiga’s eyes, he wasn’t so convinced he’d succeeded. “Thank you for your time, Shiga-sensei,” Abe said, standing up and bowing before leaving his office and stepping out into the hall. Abe exhaled heavily, closing his eyes and deciding that, well, maybe Shiga had been right about the walk at least. He kind of wanted to go find Mihashi and talk to him, see if they could work something out, but that seemed like a spectacularly bad idea after the guy had been sobbing too hard to even  _look_  at him the last time they were in the same room together. He thought too of going to Momoe, asking about his Jaeger, when it would be ready, but somehow that was a little too depressing, to know that his Jaeger would be collecting dust in the holding bay while he was trying to get Mihashi to look at him without cringing. Definitely not that then, either. 

Abe did exactly as Shiga said, walking around the base aimlessly, paying not too much attention to the people he was walking past or the rooms he was seeing, just one foot in front of the other, noticing how people would look at him and feeling a bit of relief that he wasn’t invisible, that he did exist, that people outside of himself acknowledged his existence. And he thought, he thought about Shun, wondered how he was doing back home, if it was about time to call his family and tell them how much he’d fucked up; he thought about Haruna, wondered if he’d already gotten another pilot, if he was having as much trouble as Abe was, but probably not because while Abe was unsociable as hell and couldn’t trust anyone enough to Drift, Haruna was the golden apple of everyone’s eye and wouldn’t have any trouble at all; and he thought Mihashi, whose golden eyes caused him to shiver and whose darkest thoughts had Abe’s heart wrenching onto the floor, curiosity burning in him to know just what kind of past the pitcher had to have that kind of spiraling hell in his head.

When Abe finally made the rounds back to the floor of his room, he was more than a little tired and ready for a bath, dinner and bed, though he was surprised to see someone sitting on the steps in front of his door. Hazel eyes blinked up into his, and Mihashi stood straight like a rocket, limbs stiff and awkward. “Um… A-Abe-kun… I…”

“What are you doing here?” Abe asked, and Mihashi looked down next to where he’d been sitting with a garbled explanation that didn’t make sense. It was a couple of boxes, and Abe thought back to Shiga’s subtly devious smile, and how  _the answer will come to you_ , and suddenly his irritation flared back hot with a sudden understanding of how he and Momoe managed to get along so well after all. 

 


	6. battery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So..... as I was writing this it occurred to me that having been raised in a military family, there might be some military-type jargon that I use and don't know that it's not part of most people's vernacular. SO. That said. If there's anything that is ever unclear, please let me know! 'PX' is short for 'post exchange' and is sort of a general store, and a commissary is where you get things like groceries. 
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone for the lovely feedback and fanart (that I would link to but I'm a little pressed for time and would like to get this chapter up asap....sorry!!) and comments and everything else that I get. It means a lot to know that people are enjoying this fic as much as I am ahahahah = v=

It took Abe a moment to appreciate that Mihashi really was standing outside his door, looking rather like a lost puppy waiting to be let in the door. He sighed heavily as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys to unlock his - well,  _their,_  he supposed - door, pushing it open to let Mihashi in first, only to turn and see that he was struggling to pick up both of his boxes at once. Counting slowly to five, Abe leaned over, grabbing the top box and pushing the door open with his foot as he entered his -  _their_  - room. He put it down on the dining table, then shut the door behind Mihashi after the blond stepped inside and stared at him with wide eyes.

“Go on ahead and make yourself at home,” Abe said, walking over to the counter of the small built-in kitchen and leaning against the counter. Mihashi blinked at him few times, then turned on his heel, shoulders hunched as he passed the couch. He put the box on the dresser next to the beds, then paused before looking at Abe with a lost expression. It took Abe a moment to figure out what Mihashi’s problem seemed to be, or rather his best guess. “I’ve got the bottom two drawers. You can take the top two. Oh, for the beds, if you prefer the bottom, we can switch. I don’t really care.”

“N-no, top is fine,” Mihashi muttered quickly, opening his box and pulling out his clothes. Abe stared, watching the motion of Mihashi’s repetitive unpack-attempt-to-refold-place cycle until Mihashi looked over his shoulder and flushed bright red when his eyes locked with Abe’s. Rolling his eyes and determined to have a conversation, Abe pushed off the counter, going instead to sit at the head of his bed, close enough to where Mihashi was unpacking that it was apparently uncomfortable for the blond, but not so close that Abe felt obligated to move. Mihashi looked to him and then jerked his gaze back away, several times until Abe clutched his knee tightly to keep from reaching out to dig his knuckles into Mihashi’s temples. He was supposed to be trying to earn trust, not scare the shit out of him.

“Did Shiga-sensei call you?” Abe asked, the curiosity just enough that he wanted to know, and the room more than quiet enough for even him to try and force  _some_  kind of conversation. Mihashi nodded rapidly, putting his empty box on the floor and walking over to the second one that Abe had deposited on the table. “What did he say?”

Mihashi pulled open his box, peering inside carefully. “Not long, but… He said… that I was assigned to be Abe-kun’s roommate, since we… were going to be piloting… together…” he mumbled, turning bright red and wringing his fingers into his shirt. Abe stared as Mihashi’s mouth kept moving but no sounds came out, suddenly glad for the distance between them because there was no way he’d be able to keep himself from shaking Mihashi anymore. Maybe if he was lucky, the words would fall out of Mihashi’s mouth onto the floor and he’d be able to make better sense out of them.

“What is it?” Abe snapped, causing Mihashi to jump a bit. Abe ground his teeth together, hands white with how tight they were fisted on his pants legs. “Mihashi, if you have something to say, say it!”

“Even though…!” Mihashi started loudly, turning his body to Abe even as his face stared religiously to his feet and his voice died into a murmur, “…even though I can’t Drift, and I… made… you sick… I’m going to try… my best!” He looked at Abe again, then back down, hands clutching his shirt even tighter as his shoulders hunched forward. “So… don’t… don’t kick me out, yet… Please…”

There were a few breaths where Abe just stared at Mihashi, and then he was moving, legs striding wide until he had Mihashi’s head between his knuckles and he was grinding in, twisting his wrists and inflecting all of the irritation he felt through the motion. Mihashi wailed, and Abe released him, lungs heaving with his breath as he felt the hot rage boiling in his veins. 

“How…  _how the_   _hell do you begin to think I’m going to throw you out?!”_  he shouted, hands reaching up and clenching in Mihashi’s shirt before his knees could melt him into the floor. “Where do you even  _get_ these ideas?! Do you have  _any_ idea how hard I worked to get you  _in_  here?!” Not as hard as he’d expected he’d have to work, but hard enough that the thought of any little anxiety wiping out his effort was absolutely  _maddening_.

“I’m s-sorry…. Wh… wh… but… Abe-kun is…!” 

“Stop talking and just… unpack your box so we can get some food,” Abe said, releasing Mihashi with tense fingers and stepping back before he did something  _really_  stupid, like shake Mihashi until he managed to say something that made sense, or until every idiotic little thought fell out of his head. He exhaled shakily, plopping down in one of the two dining chairs and propping his head on his hand. He watched as Mihashi pulled a couple more articles of clothes out of the box, and then his baseball glove, and a small bag of baseballs (why the hell did Mihashi have a bag of baseballs, Abe wondered), and then a picture frame that had been wrapped in a couple pairs of socks that showed Mihashi standing uncomfortably between a guy with sharp eyes and a girl that looked a little like Mihashi, both smiling bright at the camera while Mihashi did that droopy half-smile thing that barely passed. He didn’t get to see much more of the picture, however, as Mihashi took it and walked it over to the dresser, propping it up with a little more interest than he had with his clothes, though nothing compared to the almost tender placement of the baseball glove. 

When Mihashi came back, his eyes darted over to his left, and Abe followed the gaze to see the small built-in kitchen that was in the middle of functioning rather nicely as little more than wall art. He looked back to Mihashi, who fidgeted under his gaze, then back to the kitchen. He’d never really paid attention to it after mentally labeling it as something to use to cook (which he didn’t do) or something to hold groceries (which he didn’t know where to get), but Mihashi seemed to have enough of an interest that he decided to put off his hunger pangs for just a few more minutes if it meant the blond would calm down a bit.

“You cook?” Abe asked tersely, half-expecting Mihashi to shake his head because Mihashi could have been looking at anything in the general direction of the kitchen. He was slightly surprised, however, when Mihashi nodded after a breath’s hesitation, eyes flicking up to Abe’s face before falling back down.

“Yeah, I um… I like it. Cooking.” Mihashi’s voice was soft, still hesitant and probably trying to do its best from incurring another fierce knuckle noogie, but it wasn’t shaking, and it was the first bit of self confidence Abe could remember seeing on his face since their tussle in the Kwoon Combat Room. Abe straightened his spine and leaned forward a bit, resting his forearms on the table as he studied Mihashi’s expression. 

He was still obviously nervous and hesitant, but his hands, which had been curling incessantly in his shirt, were now merely fiddling with the buttons, probably more out of a nervousness from Abe’s staring than anything else. His spine had relaxed, too, his shoulders straightening a bit, and Abe looked over to the kitchen with a slow impression passing his mind before he seized on it and turned it into a thought, a thought that maybe Mihashi could relax into his new space better if he had something he liked to do, like cooking. The thought that perhaps they could even cook together passed through too, though he supposed with no small amount of illusion otherwise that him cooking would probably just make Mihashi trust him  _less_. It would only take one kitchen fire to get him kicked off cooking duty, and the last thing he needed was Mihashi even more wary of him than he already was. But then again, it  _would_  have them working together, and then they could eat together, which would have him and Mihashi in a friendly relationship enough for Drifting in no time. He’d gotten to be on pretty good terms with Sakaeguchi, after all, and they’d only ever shared meals as significant interaction. It made sense it would work with Mihashi, too.

“Okay. Let’s go get some dinner for tonight, but starting tomorrow, do you want to cook together?” Abe asked, pushing off the table and leading the way to the door. He heard what sounded like some kind of happy chirpy noise behind him, and when he turned to see if he could make sense of Mihashi’s expression, he saw Mihashi’s cheekbones flushed with a happy pleasure that died a little when hazel eyes locked with Abe’s before fluttering to the ground. What little bit of hope that had lit in Abe’s chest died, and he settled for a sigh, a locked door, and his hands in his pockets as Mihashi trailed behind him to the elevator. By the time Abe had pressed the appropriate button for the floor holding the cafeteria, the scowl and frustration from earlier had come back, and he leaned to the side away from Mihashi with crossed arms and a small heft of breath. 

Mihashi was a jumbled, fidgety mess, Abe noticed as he stared at him using the reflective elevator doors. He kept shooting Abe nervous glances before staring back at his feet, anxiety all but written on his forehead in a black marker. Abe closed his eyes, feeling his brows furrow as his molars started to grind together with how tight his jaw was clenched. No, he could do this, he thought with a streak of determination, opening his eyes and shooting a glance at Mihashi that had the pitcher jumping straight when they managed to meet their eyes. The movement shot a fierce line of irritation straight into Abe’s bloodstream, but he bit it back in desperation to get  _some_  kind of good contact between them.

“How long have you been here?” he asked, watching as Mihashi fiddled again with the buttons on his shirt in his nervousness. The blond licked his lips quickly, glancing out at Abe from the corner of his eye before looking back down to the ground again.

“Um… T-two…. two years,” Mihashi answered, looking over at Abe’s feet, which he supposed was an improvement. “I enlisted… after my second year of high school.” That put him at about eighteen, Abe noted, and he’d most definitely had to repeat the 24-week Jaeger Academy course after failing the Pons training since he couldn’t Drift. He looked over and saw that Mihashi was trying to work his mouth around the question ‘ _What about you?’,_ eyes rocking back and forth between Abe’s feet and his knees _._  Abe waited, staring at Mihashi and not his reflection to show Mihashi that he was one hundred percent listening and interested. He could wait more. He could be a rock and let Mihashi ask himself. He could have the patience of a mountain. “Wh…” He had plenty more patience. He was definitely not gripping his hands into tight fists to keep from gripping Mihashi’s hair and telling him to spit it out already. “What about…” He was notgoing to  _murder this boy._  “… Abe-kun?” 

“What about me?” Abe repeated when he heard enough of the sentence to pretend like he hadn’t known it was going to be asked, watching as Mihashi nodded at fifty miles an hour. He inhaled and exhaled loudly, relief that he’d managed to hold out long enough for Mihashi to sort of ask the question filling his lungs with beautifully fresh air. “Same as you. Basic for a year, then a round of the Jaeger Academy, and then the thirty week program I had training with Haruna for the 144 Sprinter. Two years.” 

“Th… thirty weeks? Is it…. Does it take that long?” Mihashi asked, eyes finally making it from Abe’s knees to his hips. Abe chewed around the words in his mouth, the heavy honesty in the words that  _no not usually it’s usually only ten but I never trusted my partner enough to let him in my head all the way_ , and the reflexive defense that  _Haruna was a piece of shit who never put everything into anything_ , and all of the complicated things in his mind mixing, the frustration, the hurt, the  _I need to be in a Jaeger to make everything worth it and at this point I don’t even care who my partner is as long as they’re good enough_ , but the elevator stopped blissfully, the doors slid open, and Abe stepped out with enough time to collect his thoughts before he answered.

“It depends on the pilots. Sometimes it takes that long, sometimes it’s as short as eight weeks. I can’t say how long it’ll take us because we haven’t even Drifted yet, so I don’t know how long we’ll have to do simulations. Could be never.” The words scared Abe to say, to admit that he could possibly be Drift Compatible with someone who would never work out, but before he could tell Mihashi that he was just being cautious, he was startled into stopping by a tight grasp on his arm, tight enough to hurt a little, tight enough to stop him in his tracks despite the fact that the person on the other end of the pale fingers was smaller than Abe was - except, except he wasn’t, Abe thought, blinking into hazel eyes that met his steadily for the first time since their horrific incident in the Drift; standing this close, staring into those eyes that were almost golden this close, he once again felt the shivers of intensity from being on the receiving end of that kind of gaze.

“We’re going… to do it!” Mihashi said with absolute certainty, and he didn’t know why, but Abe suddenly thought about the white chalk lines on the side of the building, and the perfect nine-partition placement that Mihashi had with his pitching even after two brutal years of the kind of physical and mental training designed to break a man, and he understood, for a flash of a second, the thought that Mihashi Ren was definitely not small. Physically, yes, but standing there, fingers gripping almost into a bruise on Abe’s arm from sheer determination to work until he got it right, Mihashi was so big before him that for a moment, Abe was blind to just about anything else. All he could do was blink, and then he felt his spine relax from a tension he hadn’t even really known he’d had, and in perfect time, Mihashi lets go of his arm and falls back into himself a bit, fiddling with the hem of his shirt and no longer making eye contact, but staring intently at Abe’s shoulder instead. “I talked… to Shiga-sensei, this afternoon, and… the Kaiju interrupted, but… I’ll tell Abe-kun, over dinner, what…”

Abe reached a hand out and ruffled Mihashi’s hair, earning a squawk that made Abe laugh for how light he suddenly felt. “Good job, Mihashi. Let’s get some food and talk.” Mihashi nodded quickly, and they started back down the hall to the cafeteria. At the front, Abe showed his identification card, Mihashi doing the same behind him, and they both got their food before going towards the tables. It was pretty busy, Abe noticed with irritation, having pictured a perfect two-person table for him and Mihashi to talk about whatever it was that Shiga-sensei had told Mihashi, but then Mihashi was tugging on his sleeve gently, and leading the way to go sit across from a bickering Hanai and Tajima.

“Oi, Mihashi! Over here!” Tajima exclaimed, waving his arm around to catch Mihashi’s attention. Abe followed, sitting across from Hanai and lifting an eyebrow when he saw that the other pilot was obviously uncomfortable… embarrassed, even? He looked to Tajima, who sat back down and grinned brightly at the blond. 

“Oh, drinks, I’ll… go get,” Mihashi said, scampering off before Abe could even notice himself that he had forgotten his, though at his absence, Abe saw Tajima shoot what was definitely an uncharacteristically sulky look to his copilot.

“What bit your ass?” Abe asked, taking a bite of his bread. Tajima gasped, pointing his fork at Abe to address him.

“That’s exactly my problem! Are you psychic?” he asked, but Hanai’s palm slapped loudly on the table to interrupt the conversation. 

“So, Abe, I heard that the Drift didn’t go so well,” Hanai said, loudly and very obviously changing the subject. Abe stared for a second, wondering why the hell Hanai felt it was necessary to be this obnoxious at a meal, but then he saw just how red-hot Hanai’s face was and figured that Tajima probably did something embarrassing. He shrugged, digging into his salad with a slightly detached disinterest but knowing that it was important to get all of his proper nutrition. 

“Yeah, not so good. Turns out Mihashi can’t do a Neural Handshake and just drops right into a Drift.” 

“Is that even possible?” Hanai asked, earning a scowl from Abe. 

“I have half a bucket of puke and two dissociative breakdowns for proof, if you’re interested,” he countered sharply. Hanai’s mouth snapped closed, hand going back to pick at his food. Abe started to do the same, but a soft touch of cold perspiration on his left wrist drew his attention, and he looked to see Mihashi placing a container of water before sitting down next to him. He looked down at his food and almost seemed like he was pouting a bit, if Abe had to describe it. So far their conversations about food had been pretty successful, he thought; perhaps it would be worth it to try and have another?

“Mihashi, where’s the commissary for Nishiura?” he asked, deciding that going back to cooking was probably the safest conversation they could have that wouldn’t have the pitcher sinking back into himself again. Mihashi looked over to him while he chewed, cheeks stuffed filled with food like a little chipmunk, causing Tajima to snort into his milk while Abe sighed. “Swallow before you talk, please.”

Mihashi flushed bright pink, swallowing his food and wiping his mouth with a napkin daintily and with wide eyes on Abe’s face. When he seemed satisfied with Abe’s expression, he put it down, then nudged his food with his fork. “It’s in the base, right next to the PX, not too far from… I can show Abe-kun after dinner!” He then looked back to Abe, eyes wide with a hopeful expression. “Are… you getting groceries for tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I don’t have any because I don’t cook,” Abe answered, stabbing the last bite of his salad firmly when he saw Mihashi deflate a bit.

“Oh. Um, we don’t… have to…”

“I told you we would!” Abe snapped, grabbing his bowl of rice and digging in, irritation flaring at himself and at Mihashi when Mihashi’s eyes dropped from Abe’s face down to his tray. He took a few bites of rice in and chewed slowly, slowly working on getting as much anger out of his system as he can before he had to talk to Mihashi again, building up his patience that lets them have as normal a conversation as the two of them seem capable of having. He looked up at Hanai, who looked down at his tray very politely, and then over at Tajima, to see more pouty looks and what might even be called a glare, almost. Abe then looked back to Mihashi, who was fidgeting as he ate, and he thought about Haruna, and, well, himself too, and suddenly Abe wondered if it was part of the Jaeger Academy program’s secret guidelines to be tested as being an uncommunicative asshole to pass.

\----------

Dinner passed with not much more communication between him and Mihashi, but he  _did_ finally get the orange story out of Tajima after asking Hanai caused the taller pilot to splutter and flame the kind of red Abe had never seen off of a fire truck before. Apparently Hanai’s respect for Momoe was not as immediate as it pleased her to be, and his head had been quite a nice place to publicly squeeze an orange over. Mihashi had actually  _giggled_  at the story, and Abe made a small mental note to do something nice for Tajima for getting the blond cheered up a bit.

Abe grabbed Mihashi’s tray and took it to the clean up line, dropping it off as Mihashi waved goodbye to Tajima and Hanai. Hanai raised a hand as he and Tajima turned to go do whatever it was they did for evening training, and Abe winced a bit for Hanai as Tajima bounced around before landing squarely on his back, legs wrapped around his waist and arms clutched tight in what looked to be a very nonconsensual piggy back ride. Abe looked back to Mihashi, who was actually standing normally next to him, and sent a small prayer to whatever deity had the sad fortune of watching over him for the small blessing that at least he didn’t have Tajima as a Drift partner.

“So, commissary,” Abe said, and Mihashi’s back straightened as he nodded, leading the way out of the cafeteria towards a back hall that Abe had never used. He put his hands in his pockets as he walked a half-step behind Mihashi, enough so that it still felt like they were next to each other but that Mihashi was definitely the one leading their gravy train. Mihashi’s steps were lighter than they had been earlier, Abe noticed, and he felt a bit of relief at the fact that finally, it seemed, he’d gotten Mihashi to calm down a bit from whatever had been plaguing him since their pre-dinner meeting outside his door. It wasn’t like he had any reason to be anxious, but Abe had been inside Mihashi’s mind and knew first-hand that it certainly wasn’t any kind of place that made sense.

The PX and commissary were on the same floor as the cafeteria, just around the corner and down a wide hall. Here, Abe noted, they were actually part of the same store, instead of being separated out into their own buildings like at Musashino. It made sense, he supposed, since Nishiura was a good bit smaller than Musashino and probably didn’t have many satellite dependents who would need to come in and do their shopping. He grabbed a basket and then looked to Mihashi, who blinked mutely at him for a moment before he jolted into action. “Oh, um. Breakfast… what does Abe-kun…”

“I don’t care. Whatever you feel comfortable making,” Abe answered, walking behind as Mihashi put a few things into the basket. Abe watched, fascinated, as Mihashi picked up apples and somehow decided which of the two was good enough to go into a plastic bag, until he had six or seven that then went into the basket. He selected carrots too, and other vegetables and fruits, and then eggs. He popped open the container and studied them for a moment before putting them in, and Abe trailed after, realizing that both that Mihashi had been looking to make sure none were broken and that Abe himself was absolutely not prepared to do this kind of grocery shopping himself. A gallon of milk made the basket unpleasantly heavy, as did the small bag of rice, and Abe looked sharply at Mihashi when he started studying the packages of miso.

“Isn’t it better to get the food from the cafeteria?” he asked sullenly, earning a sulky look from Mihashi.

“It’s… not as good. And a little expensive.” Abe stared at the back of Mihashi’s head as the blond studied two different brands of whatever cans he was holding, and it occurred to Abe that perhaps it wasn’t his permission to enter that the cafeteria checked by getting his identification every time he entered, but his name for a charge. At Musashino, it had been billed as board, but as he thought about it, there hadn’t been any sort of thing on the Nishiura listing he’d gotten. He suddenly felt even more gratitude to Mihashi than ever, though he supposed it wouldn’t be fully-formed until Abe ascertained that the blond really  _could_  cook well enough to make it worth it.

Right when Abe decided that he was going to box Mihashi’s ears if the blond put anything else into the basket, Mihashi pointed towards the checkout line. “Go get in line. I’ll… I’m going to go grab one more thing,” he said, scampering off before Abe could even decide that he wanted to ask. With a small hefted sigh, he did as he was told, standing awkwardly behind an older woman who smelled like a very nice floral perfume. He looked over his shoulder, craning his neck around when he couldn’t see Mihashi, then turned back to the line. He looked again when he stepped forward, finger tapping impatiently on the basket when he turned for a third time and still no Mihashi. Then, right as Abe put the heavy basket down on the conveyer belt, he saw Mihashi running over, a bit out of breath and holding a large paper bag. 

“What’s that?” Abe asked, and Mihashi shook his head, clutching the bag to his chest. Abe stared, then shrugged and turned back to their groceries. The cashier rang them up, and Abe whipped out his identification card to charge it to his account before Mihashi could do the same. When he heard the small sound of protest, he gave Mihashi a small smile. “You cook, I buy the groceries,” he said, earning what could almost be called a pout. Abe felt his lips pull into an even wider smile, and then the two of them separated the bags between them and started towards their room.

As they walked, Abe suddenly remembered their conversation right before dinner, that Mihashi had talked to Shiga-sensei about their Drifting. He looked over to Mihashi, who was - was that… he was  _humming_  under his breath and looked as pleased as Abe had ever seen anyone, and Abe huffed out a small laugh for how ridiculous and nonsensical and, well, kind of charming Mihashi Ren could be, he supposed.

“Hey, what did Shiga-sensei tell you?” he asked, hearing his own voice as soft to his own ears. He supposed it was because of his amusement at Mihashi’s simplistic happiness, but whatever it was, he was glad, because Mihashi didn’t jump or startle, just blinked at him and even made eye contact. “You said you talked to him, earlier.”

“Yeah, um… I didn’t… really get some of what he said,” Mihashi admitted, flushing pink and looking down at the floor before jerking his gaze back up to Abe’s. “But! He did say, that maybe… I can Drift? But that we have to Drift a lot, together, and… find a way to make it work… and trust! We have to work together, and trust each other, and… hold hands!”

“Hold hands?” Abe repeated dumbly, watching as Mihashi nodded rapidly.

“Yeah! Something about… alpha… something…. and relaxing… I didn’t really… but we  hold hands! Until they’re both warm, for five minutes!” Mihashi’s eyes were wide and truthful, not that Abe really expected him to lie just to hold hands, and not that Mihashi really seemed like the type of person to really like holding hands anyway. He’d probably jump right of his skin if someone touched him, Abe thought, sort of amused and sort of irritated at the mental image. 

“Okay. Holding hands, then,” Abe said, stepping into the elevator with Mihashi standing happily next to him. “Holding hands, trusting each other, and Drifting a lot.” Mihashi nodded, and Abe pressed the button for their floor with a small sigh. Almost exactly what Shiga-sensei had told him, minus the hand holding. Relaxing for five minutes until their hands were both warm… it was probably some kind of gimmick to get them used to working together, he mused, or used to each other enough in their physical personal space that it would be easier for them to get used to each other in their mental space. Or maybe Shiga-sensei was laughing at his desk with that stupidly devious expression he’d given Abe with that whole ‘ _answer will come to you’_  bullshit he’d pulled. He was desperate enough to trust Mihashi’s somewhat broken playback and give it a try, he figured.

The elevator came to a stop on their floor, and Abe led the way to their room, awkwardly juggling the bags on his forearm as he reached into his pocket for his key. He got the door opened and pushed, stepping inside and putting the bags down on the table. Mihashi followed suit, unpacking them as Abe walked over to the kitchen and cleared the counters off. He opened the fridge, which smelled a little stale from having been on with nothing inside it, then watched as Mihashi filled it up with the things they’d bought, then tucked away the cans in a cabinet, and finally pulled out the rice cooker Abe didn’t even know he had and put it on the counter. 

“I’ll make… breakfast, tomorrow,” Mihashi said, looking at Abe with his lips pressed together in what was almost a smile. Abe nodded, and then watched curiously as Mihashi started to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt again. “There was, ah, one more thing… Shiga-sensei said,” he said, flicking his eyes down to the paper bag he’d left Abe hanging in the grocery line to get before looking back. “He asked how I knew that we were Drift C-Compatible, and I told him… about the pitching… and…”

Mihashi trailed off, fingers working his shirt even more, until he reached over and snatched the paper bag off the table and pressed it to Abe’s chest. Abe exhaled at the sharp press on his diaphragm, blinked once, then reached up and took the paper bag in his own hands, watching as Mihashi flushed pink and started to wiggle where he was standing. Carefully, not really sure what to expect, Abe opened the paper bag, and when he reached inside and felt a familiar brush of leather against his palm before he even saw what was inside, he felt his stomach drop to his feet as his eyes widened. He grasped the heavy weight, pulling it out slowly, and looked down at the black catcher’s mitt, the bag still heavy in his left hand with a bottle of glove oil, and a small cloth for Abe to use to care for the present. He stared, running his fingers over the threading, feeling the ridges that weren’t there yet but that would be, soon, and when he finally looked to Mihashi, he realized that his eyes were warm and a little too wet, his throat clenching with the kind of gratitude he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Mihashi, this is…” 

“Shiga-sensei said… we should… pitch, together,” Mihashi said, hands now working steadily on the hem of his shirt, eyes focused where Abe was still holding the glove as gently as he would a child. “And, when I pitched to Abe-kun, it was… really fun! So, I wanted… to give you - ”

Abe hadn’t known he was moving until he had, and he blinked into Mihashi’s hair as his arm coiled tighter around Mihashi’s neck in the one-armed hug he’d snagged. There was a breath where Mihashi was stiff as a board, but then there was a brush of warmth on his sides and two hands patting gently on his back, and Abe closed his eyes as he hugged Mihashi with all of the words of thanks he wasn’t sure he knew how to say. But he  _needed_  to say them, they weren’t Drifting just yet and Mihashi didn’t know what was inside his head, so he pulled back and ruffled Mihashi’s hair beneath his hand, knowing that his face was probably splotchy red and his eyes filled with tears he wouldn’t shed just yet, and he felt the grin splitting his face for a joy of baseball he hadn’t felt in years. It split his chest open, heart beating fast against his ribcage, and he patted Mihashi’s head before pulling back to look back down at the black glove that was a little heavy in his hand, but just right.

“Thanks, Mihashi. I really… really appreciate it,” he said, voice soft and warm even to his own ears, and when he looked to Mihashi, he saw the flush of red pleasure spread on the blond’s cheeks right before he got a silly half-smile on his face, hands coming up to clutch at his shirt.

“Does… Do you want to…”

“Hell yeah,” Abe grinned, not needing the rest of the sentence because even before there was Drifting, there was baseball, and they weren’t part of a team, they had never played in a game before, but they were still a battery, sort of, and Mihashi sprinting messily over to their dresser to grab his light brown mitt and his bag of baseballs that Abe is suddenly very glad to see and maybe feeling just a little bit bad for thinking less of Mihashi for having it earlier. He let Mihashi lock the door as they stepped out into the hall, instead slipping his left hand into the mitt and working his fingers into the slots where they would be comfortable. It was stiff and a bit uncomfortable, but given a few days of breaking it, it would be just perfect. 

He knew that Mihashi was watching him, and he looked over to lightly tap the glove on Mihashi’s head with a soft chuckle. “It’s perfect,” he said, watching as Mihashi blossomed with happiness from the skin outwards, body ready to get into his catching position, ready to feel the burn in his thighs from the crouch, ready to lean into the force of a pitch to stay upright, ready to catch Mihashi’s pitch. A glance to Mihashi showed the pitcher all but vibrating in his shoes and the fact that Mihashi seemed to be as eager to pitch as he felt to catch, and maybe Abe was just a little too rough on Shiga-sensei, and maybe Abe owed him something nice, too.

When the elevator came to a stop, Mihashi darted forward to the balcony where they first met, and Abe followed, opening the door behind when Mihashi was too excited to wait for him. Mihashi stretched his arm and shoulder, eyes darting to Abe with wide joy, and after a few minutes of warming up, Abe finally went to stand with his back to the wall. He looked across, and got into a crouch that felt better than any exercise had felt since probably high school, maybe even earlier; and when he raised his new glove, it was heavy, but his arm has gotten stronger since the last time he had a mitt on his hand, and it was steady. He looked up to Mihashi, eyes locking, and he slipped his right hand between his thighs to signal for the first pitch. Fastball, straight down the middle. Mihashi nodded, straightened his spine, and brought his leg up before his body whipped fast, arm shooting forward at the last second, and when the ball sank hard into Abe’s mitt, he closed his eyes, letting the sound echo in his mind and the weight of the ball press into his palm for a few moments.

When he opened them again, he saw Mihashi standing across from him, face flushed with pleasure, and when Abe threw the ball back, he caught it, eyes electric and giving Abe that same shiver of excited intimidation he always got when Mihashi looked at him like that. He thought for a moment, of something to say, some thing that would let Mihashi know how good it felt to catch for him, and how they really  _were_  going to make this work, they were going to Drift, they were going to get in a Jaeger together, they were going to fight and save the world. But somehow, on this small balcony, it felt smaller than that, not anything on any epic world scale, just their battery. It felt like they had enough time to take it one step at a time. For now, it felt like enough.

“Nice ball!” he shouted with a curling smile, and he lifted his glove again.

 


	7. failure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uwahhhh a lot of focus on Mihashi in this chapter. Poor Abe-kun gets to see a sliver of his copilot's backstory. Poor Mihashi-kun had to live it. A touch of derealization again, but nothing too serious, I don't think.
> 
> and GOODNESS WE HAVE. SOME FANART. OH DO WE HAVE SOME FANART. 
> 
> [whythemadman - pacrim poses](http://whythemadman.tumblr.com/post/101925718084/blondnepetas-pacific-rim-oofuri-au) ..GASP THESE ARE. DELICIOUS. DANG
> 
> [uirukii - abemih glove comic](http://uirukii.tumblr.com/post/102149705867/dies-based-off-the-totally-amazing-pacific-rim) A COMIC OF THE GLOVE-GIVING SCENE, KYAAAAAA
> 
> [queenoftheantz - some abemihas](http://queenoftheantz.tumblr.com/post/102767252769/blondnepeta-sooo-i-heard-something-about-a) SCREAM. ILLEGAL CUTE. OF MY FAVORITE SCENE. +KCR SHENANIGANS. DANG.
> 
> [whythemadman - That Tajihana Scene](http://whythemadman.tumblr.com/post/103055543729/if-anyone-is-going-to-get-fucked-against-this) NSFW. WOW. L. YOU HAVE OUTDONE YOURSELF. DANG. *DANG*. (dang) [SWEATS]
> 
> DANG!! THANK YOU ANNA, MYRA, AND L FOR YOUR BEAUTIFUL ARTS!!! And thank you to EVERYONE for all for your continued and amazing support and feedback, it means a lot!!

As he’d expected despite the fact that he’d absolutely sworn to himself that he and Mihashi would make breakfast  _together_ , the next morning, Abe was an absolute disaster in their kitchen. 

He hadn’t known miso could actually be flammable or that water only made grease fires worse and borderline dangerous, but most surprising of all, probably, was the exasperated expression Mihashi leveled at him as he pushed Abe at his shoulder towards their table and told him to sit after putting a lid on the miso soup and letting the fire die immediately. 

Abe propped his head up on his hand, watching Mihashi, impressed that he’d fixed the fire situation so quickly, but also biting back dull frustration. Mihashi was moving things around on their stove, eyes drifting every once in a while to the impressive black charcoaled mark on their wall with a small sigh, and cooking well without Abe.  _Without_  him, Abe repeated, tapping his fingers on his cheek, feeling his brows pull together. He’d known that eventually he’d do something in the kitchen to get Mihashi to trust him less, but he hadn’t expected it to be so… immediate. This wasn’t doing anything to help them Drift better. And then, he scowled, because he was not going to give up on this perfect opportunity that easily, and as if the heavens themselves were praising his fortitude, the rice clicker bell rang signaling that it was done.

“I can make the rice balls,” he said, pushing away from where he’d been exiled and standing defensively in front of the rice cooker. Mihashi looked at him with wide hazel eyes, then to the black mark on their wall, then back to Abe, and then he nodded. Abe exhaled in relief, staring down at the rice cooker where it was steaming onto the lid. It wasn’t much, but it had them standing next to each other, working on a meal together that they would eat together, and while it was just a little smothering to think of how little time he would have away from the blond for a while, the thought of a successful Drift had him exhaling and taking the lid off the rice with a determined clench of his jaw.

It took a few minutes, but slowly Abe felt his shoulders relax a bit, and he looked over to watch Mihashi whisk the eggs with a loose wrist motion and a fork. His face was relaxed but concentrated, not intense like it was in the Kwoon Combat Room, but more secure, more  _confident_  than it was when they were just standing next to each other normally. There was a hiss of the pan when Mihashi put the eggs in, and Abe looked back to the rice balls, pushing an indentation in them and filling them with the apricot mix Mihashi had mixed together while Abe was pouting at the table. They didn’t talk, but somehow, standing next to Mihashi and working together to make food made him feel like he’d taken a step forward to getting the blond to trust him. At least, it would if he stopped glancing worriedly at the black spot on the wall, Abe thought sourly, squeezing a rice ball a little too tightly and making it flatter than it should have been.

“I’ll take care of that later, so stop looking at it like it’s gonna eat you,” he grit out, not really sure  _how_  he was going to take care of it but  _really_  needing Mihashi to  _leave it alone_  already. It seemed to work, as Mihashi’s shoulders hunched a bit as he turned his attention back to the stove, flipping the omelet before sliding it onto a plate and filling the pan again with the other half of the eggs he’d whisked. For his Jaeger, Abe repeated to himself like a mantra; for his Jaeger.

By the time they finished cooking and had everything on their little table, Abe was more than a little hungry and actually pretty impressed at the nice spread Mihashi had managed to scrounge up. More importantly, Abe noted after taking a bite of the omelet, it tasted good.  _Better_  than good. Definitely better than the food in the cafeteria, which wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t  _this_. He ate quickly and quietly, too interested in shoveling his mouth full of food to talk and happy that Mihashi seemed to be of the same mind. When the plates were empty and his stomach was pleasantly full, Abe exhaled, looking over to Mihashi to see the blond wiggling nervously in his chair, cutting his eyes between Abe’s face and his hands clasped in his lap.

“It was really good. Thanks, Mihashi,” Abe said, going on a limb and guessing that Mihashi was waiting on a verdict, and sure enough, Mihashi’s face blossomed with pride and happiness, his lips pressed together in a half-smile as he stared warmly down at the table. Abe stared at him for just a moment, basking in the victory that came with a successful communication, then stood and took the dishes over to the sink. He started washing them, looking to Mihashi when the blond brought over the rest then picked up a dry cloth, standing next to him to dry and put them away as Abe handed them over. When they were finished, Abe dried his hands, folding the cloth over the side of the sink to dry. “Come on. Let’s get going to the Simulator or we’ll be late.” 

Mihashi nodded, though it was not the same neutral nod he had when Abe asked him if he’d cooked before, nor was it the happy nod when Abe asked him if he wanted to make breakfast tomorrow too. It was the jerky nervous nod Abe knew a little too well, the nod that was accompanied by a pale face and lips pressed tightly together. Not that Abe blamed him, really, he thought as he grabbed his keys and slipped them into his pocket, then pulled on his boots at their door. Their last foray had been a disaster, after all.

The elevator was loud for the fact that they weren’t saying anything, what with Mihashi practically vibrating in his skin out of nervousness and Abe absolutely determined not to say anything to make it worse. He tried to think of all the things he’d ever said that made Mihashi get that silly-looking half-smile on his face, make him bloom with pride and happiness, but all he could think of was complimenting his cooking, and somehow that didn’t seem appropriate a precursor for getting into a Jaeger Simulator. Instead, he decided to stare at the numbers on the elevator as they changed, then leading the charge off when the doors opened at the correct floor.

Instead of heading for the Kwoon Combat Room, they turned left right outside of the elevator, walking around the far wing of the base until they got to the locker room that lead to the Simulator room. Abe sighed and opened the locker that had his last name on it, spotting in it the same temporary electromyograph suit that wasn’t completely comfortable. He pulled off his shirt, but before he could reach for his pants, a soft sound behind him caught his attention and he looked over to his side to see Mihashi standing next to him, holding his hands up to his chest. 

“What is it?” he asked, watching as Mihashi’s mouth opened into a diamond shape before he lifted his hand wordlessly. Abe stared at it, waiting for something to click into place for the bizarre action to make sense, and then it did. “Oh, right, we’re supposed to hold hands for five minutes, right?”

“Yeah, we’re supposed to… think about the warmth,” Mihashi said, fingers moving in a wave twice as he stared down at his palm. “If the other person’s hand is cold, you imagine giving them warmth, and if yours is cold, then you… imagine taking the warmth, Shiga-sensei said… alpha waves… uh…” Mihashi started sweating nervously, hand tensing up as he tried to remember, and Abe sighed heavily before reaching out and pressing his palm against Mihashi’s. It was cold, which he didn’t think too much about until Mihashi stiffened. Abe made a questioning noise in the back of his throat, and Mihashi’s eyes jolted to his before he looked down and bit his lip. “If your hand is cold it… means you’re nervous…”

“Are you nervous?” Abe asked, even though he could feel the obvious temperature difference between them. Mihashi’s shoulders came up to his ears, and then he nodded slowly, brows furrowing intently between wide animal eyes. “You don’t need to be nervous. I’m going to be in there with you.”

“That’s…!” Mihashi started, hand pressing against Abe’s as his momentum moved him forward to talk, but then he bit down harshly on his tongue and stared back down at the floor, sinking back into himself. Abe felt his hand tighten on Mihashi’s, wishing more than ever that they were able to Drift, that he could get inside this kid’s head and figure out just what the hell he was trying to say when his lips would move but the words wouldn’t come out. Mihashi then looked up Abe’s leg to his left side, and Abe could feel the moment hazel eyes traced the burn scars on his left side, and for a moment he wasn’t sure if his hands cooled or if Mihashi’s hand warmed, but suddenly the temperature difference wasn’t as great as it had been on their first contact. He felt his molars rubbing together as his jaw clenched, and he closed his eyes. 

“Five minutes, right?” he said, snapping Mihashi’s attention up from where it was most unwanted, and opening his eyes to see a slow nod. Abe pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, setting an alarm on his phone and then holding in his right hand as he closed his eyes again. Mihashi’s hand was still colder than his was, he noted, doing as Mihashi said and concentrating on the heat of his palm moving to Mihashi’s. He felt his breath mellow out, but he let it, figuring that relaxing into the meditation would only help whatever it was Shiga was trying to accomplish by having them do this seemingly pointless maneuver in the first place. The man was well-respected, though, and Abe figured the research officer knew more about this kind of thing than he did.

Five minutes later, the alarm on his phone went off, and Abe opened his eyes to look at Mihashi’s hand, which was still cool against his own. Still nervous, Abe figured, though a glance into Mihashi’s still-edged eyes told him that much without needing to touch him. He released Mihashi’s hand, jerking his chin in the direction of Mihashi’s locker. “Go on and get your suit on and let’s do this.” Mihashi nodded, going over, and Abe turned back to his own locker, finally removing his pants. He almost took off his boxers out of habit before remembering that this suit wasn’t made for him and it wasn’t necessary for him to strip all the way down. He pulled the elastic-like electromyograph suit on his legs first, stretching it over his thighs and then up, sliding in his arms and tugging everything into place before zipping it up. Turning, he saw Mihashi fiddling with an arm that was inside out.

“Hold still,” he said, walking over and reaching his hands up to the aberrant sleeve. Carefully, he pushed it right side out, then held it up for Mihashi to wiggle his fingers into. Once Mihashi’s small hands fit into the finger slots, Abe stepped back, letting Mihashi zip up the suit and tug it around a bit.

“Thanks,” Mihashi murmured, cheeks a bit pink, and Abe ruffled his hair before turning towards the suit room. Mihashi made a small chirping noise behind him, running to catch up before settling into step next to him, looking steadily down at his feet. Abe swallowed the annoyed groan. He could be patient. He could be understanding.

The technicians buzzed around them, putting the armor into place and placing the spinal clamp, handing Abe his helmet for him to put on. The relay gel flooded out of his helmet slowly, and when he stepped forward into the Jaeger boots and looked over to Mihashi, he could tell from the shape of the pitcher’s spine that he was more than a little nervous. Reaching over, he put a hand on Mihashi’s shoulder, squeezing as much as he could through the Jaeger armor protecting those fragile bird bones.

“This is just another practice run. Didn’t you say we’re going to do it?” Mihashi looked up at him, his face a pale shade of green and mouth a thin line. Abe frowned when he saw the terror in Mihashi’s eyes, turning more to him until they were facing each other. “Hey. Last time was a wreck, but it wasn’t your fault. This is really difficult what we’re trying to do here, but I’m counting on you.”

Mihashi blinked up at him, and there was a slight glare through their helmets, but Abe could see the moment something shifted in Mihashi’s gaze, and there was a bit of that same tenacity that he’d seen a few times before, the same hunger that clawed in his gut to make this work, and then Mihashi nodded, face finally a bit more colored than it had been, and Abe nodded too, stepping back and nodding to the technicians as they walked through the door to the Simulator.

Hamada was already standing there next to a few people Abe didn’t recognize, and the blond raised a hand in greeting. “Yo, nice to see you again! Go on ahead and get in. We got everything set up for Tajima and Hanai earlier, so we’re good to go.”

“Tajima and Hanai were already in here today?” Abe asked, and Hamada nodded, face a bit irritated.

“Yeah. Those two… I swear, they don’t appreciate that I need my sleep and that five in the morning shouldn’t exist. One of these days…” Five a.m., Abe mentally repeated, more than a little impressed at the dedication of the two pilots. He and Mihashi had gotten up at  _six_  to eat breakfast. Part of him wanted to track the two down and get their schedule to see what he could gleam from it, but a glance to Mihashi reminded him that they’d probably be on a specialized schedule for a while. 

Abe stepped over to where Mihashi was standing outside of the Simulator, shivering in his boots. He put his hand on Mihashi’s shoulder to jerk him out of what looked like the beginnings of another panic episode, and sure enough, Mihashi jumped and looked at him with wide eyes before relaxing a bit when their gazes locked and Abe nodded. Mihashi inhaled once, then exhaled, slowly, and when the doors to the Simulator opened, they stepped inside together.

Just like last time, Abe took the left side, stepping into place as the machinery of the fake pod reacted just like the machinery in a normal pod would, rising into place and screwing into his suit, securing him head to toe, connecting him to a robot body that wasn’t there. He rolled his head around on his shoulders, then looked over to Mihashi, who was tense but concentrating intently on the screen in front of him. Good, Abe thought, looking to them himself. He’d told Mihashi before that it didn’t really matter that he was the right, that they’d be working together, but that had been a bit of a lie; the person on the right really was the dominant one, and it was Abe’s job to support the right. Seeing Mihashi focused like that made it feel a bit less of a stretch that this could happen for real.

“Everything looks good from out here. I’m going to go on ahead and start the Neural Handshake - or, well, I guess as much of one as you two have,” Hamada’s voice said over the intercom, mixing with the feminine computerized voice counting down to the Neural Handshake Abe knew wouldn’t happen.  _Breathe_ , he reminded himself, closing his eyes and preparing himself for the full brunt of another one of Mihashi’s memories, or maybe even that oppressive void that he would wade through this time for sure. Listened to the countdown, the  _five, four, three_ , and then the flash just before the Neural Handshake and - 

And then Abe was watching as Mihashi stared at a wooden board with nine partitions on it across a small decorative pond, next to a house that felt like his own, the cold winter air of December burning his body through the Divesuit since it was all of Mihashi’s sensations he was getting and this  _idiot_  was out in the snow without a jacket; but then Abe felt the crushing non-existence that whispered in the back of his head, the threat of disappearing and ceasing to  _be_ , the constant  _you don’t exist you don’t exist you don’t exist_  screaming rigid lines in his ear as he saw backs and never faces. Abe grunted, went to press a hand to his aching skull when with a clasp of his hand, he felt the paper in his grasp. He looked down, just as Mihashi had looked down, and saw a flyer clenched within his fingers. Opened them, smoothed out wrinkles with a reverence he felt but didn’t understand, saw the propaganda enticing people to join the Jaeger Ranger Program, and then he was feeling the sudden swell of hope, chest ballooning with an absolute determination that looked like a baseball hitting exactly where he wanted it to on a board that had been broken and fixed many times, an excitement that tasted like the milk that had been heavy on Mihashi’s tongue the first time his classmates had gathered around someone’s phone to watch the footage of the latest Kaiju get taken down by a Jaeger, how they were all  _acknowledging_  the Jaeger pilot, how the Jaeger pilot  _existed_  to them, a wonder of what it would feel like to have someone  _look at him_ and  _see_  him and acknowledge that he  _existed_. The flyer was so heavy in his hands Abe dropped it, scorched by cold iced tears streaking his face and then falling, falling into pain until the world screamed at him for falling too far, his body  _aching_ with the kind of screeching agony people tore their at their skin if it meant relief - 

But it wasn’t screaming, Abe realized, opening his eyes to the blaring of an alarm and feeling the slackness of his body in the Jaeger harness. He straightened his legs, gritting past the excruciating lightning of pain that tore at his muscles from the movement, and he sucked in a breath that expanded his lungs and took an edge off the sudden dizziness he felt. He’d dropped out of the Drift again, judging from the alarms screeching and the sudden exhaustion of his aching body.

“Abe, are you okay?” Hamada’s voice asked, and Abe blinked once, then twice, closing his eyes and exhaling before lifting his hand to the comm button and holding it down. His arm protested the movement, but he forced his hand to stabilize enough to hold it down and talk, gave himself the moment to clear his mind of the thick emotions that weren’t his own so that he could communicate to someone using words instead of thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Give me a second and we can - “  _try it again_ , he almost said, before realizing that he should probably check Mihashi’s condition first. It was a fucked up Drift, but it was a Drift, something with a heavy neural load that the blond wasn’t used to like Abe was. He looked over to Mihashi with a reluctance that annoyed him, because Mihashi had signed up for a Drift and he  _knew_ Abe was going to see his memories and damn it why was  _he_ embarrassed when it was  _Mihashi_  who should be feeling like this, not him - looked to Mihashi, who didn’t look back at him and seemed apprehensive, but who finally nodded to agree to a question Abe wasn’t sure he was asking. 

Abe groaned when he closed his eyes and saw the Jaeger flyer in his hand again, bit down hard on his tongue to bring himself back to reality even as tears pricked his eyes again. Mihashi’s desire to be in a Jaeger stemming from a need to be acknowledged was nice to know but unimportant, he told himself firmly, then repeated it when his gut twisted in protest. He didn’t need to know  _why_ Mihashi was so desperate to make it work. He just needed that desperation, needed it to match his own, knew now that it did, they both hungered for it to work from deep within. 

And then, Abe felt the wry smile crawl onto his face, because it really was that simple. Mihashi wanted this, too, he reminded himself; Mihashi was strengthened by that firm resolve to keep pushing forward even in the face of being told that it was impossible to Drift. The need to be recognized and finding proof of himself in a line of work that would either be his eventual death in battle, and the thought  _Watch me I can do this I will push myself harder harder harder I will be a Jaeger Pilot no matter what_  in the dying Drift as strong in Mihashi’s mind as it had been in Abe’s, so strong Abe wondered, suddenly, who had thought it first, if it had been Mihashi’s thought or his own. It was enough to make him swallow past the pain, swallow past the fact that they had failed again, turning back to the comm and holding the button down. “Yeah. Let’s try that again.”

“If you’re both sure,” Hamada responded, and Abe leaned back, looking over to Mihashi, who was staring down at the floor again, shoulders hitched up high and breathing a little hard, but otherwise seemingly okay. 

“Mihashi, are you okay?” Abe asked, needing words when they were still so far away, and hazel eyes slowly dragged up to his. Lips moved, breath came out, and then Mihashi nodded. Abe pressed the comm button again, told Hamada, “Yes, we’re sure. Try it again.” Abe closed his eyes, listened again to the computerized voice counting down after Hamada confirmed the Neural Handshake, the numbers getting smaller and smaller as blue sparked in his brain and again he was falling - 

Falling, falling hard, onto a mat that was designed for falling but not quite this hard. The other trainee was brutal, all power and no control, and Mihashi’s skin blossomed with a bruise beneath his shirt even as he rolled on the floor to reach out for his pole for the next round. It was heavy in his hands, didn’t quite feel right just yet, not like a baseball had, and then Abe swallowed past regret that weighed like a world on the back of his tongue, and anger,  _anger_ , burning and white hot in his gut, so much frustration and pain as Mihashi cradled his body and withdrew from the Kwoon Combat Room. He’d won a few of the sparring contests today, and he’d lost a few, but he knew that the point wasn’t to win or lose, it was to dance with the other person and sing the same song, and somehow, he was in a different key from everyone else. Tears burned his cheeks as he retreated to the stairwell, knowing that most people used the elevators, that he could find his privacy here, privacy to sob and let the bottom of his hands press hard into his eyes as his whole body shook with angry regret. Maybe if he hadn’t gone to Mihoshi, maybe if in another world Nishiura High School had a baseball team and he could have gone there instead, things would have been different. Maybe he wouldn’t be all alone, surrounded by backs and not faces, and then Abe all but collapsed under the pressing ache of loneliness, of absolute desolation, deeper than the derealization from before, because now it was charred hope that hung in Mihashi’s chest, a Jaeger flyer crumpled and thrown into the trashcan when he gets back to his room then tenderly pulled out a few minutes later, calloused fingers tracing the shape of the robot on the sheet and palm suddenly heavy for a baseball, a lingering wonder if the PX was open this time of morning - 

And then Abe fell hard out of the Drift, harder than he’d fallen the first time. The air was knocked out of him, and he let the support rig hold his weight as he reoriented himself back in his own body, blinked down at his hands to coordinate his movements with himself again. He looked over to Mihashi, who looked at him quickly before looking back down, face a perfect picture of misery. That probably was the kind of memory Mihashi hadn’t really signed up for Abe to see, he thought, swallowing thickly and wondering if he should say something, but not knowing how or what to say.  _Don’t worry, I’m here_  came to the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down, because the truth was that he was here, yes, but they were still so far away. He looked over to Mihashi, suddenly curious if he could reach him if he stretched his arm as far as he could.

Before he could try, Mihashi looked up at Hamada’s voice filling the small room, and Abe looked down and then back up, frustration building in his gut. “Let’s quit for the day,” he said, but Mihashi looked at him, eyes wide and locking on to his with the same kind of hunger Abe had in his own body, that Abe had  _felt_  in Mihashi, that Abe understood even before he’d seen it in the shadow of an excuse for a Drift they had.

“N-No! I don’t… I want to try again!” Mihashi said, hands clenching tight. “Shiga-sensei said… we need to Drift lots! So, let’s try again!”

Abe stared, feeling a cocktail of things swirling in his gut and pushing the button to contact Hamada before he could separate what they all were. “Hamada. One more time,” he said, leaning back and listening as Hamada confirmed a third attempt, closing his eyes and leaning his head back, relaxing into the support rig that had kept him from falling on his ass twice today and now, probably, for a third,  _four, three, two, one -_

Before Abe could think to breathe, his lungs stopped working before they kicked into overdrive, his breaths coming in short and fast as absolute terror gripped his stomach into a knot. It was a dark club room, he placed, probably late, or maybe really early, and it smelled of sweat and the kind of cheap cologne middle school boys wore to try and seem older, but he barely recognized it over the absolute fear locking his whole body into place. And when he finally managed to open his eyes, he knew why. After all, a pitcher’s arm was everything, and the angle the boy was holding Mihashi’s arm was nothing short of painful, and tears of terror streamed down Mihashi’s face as he silently begged for Hatake to let him go, to please not break his arm, it’s okay if he doesn’t exist but please don’t stop him from pitching, pitching is all he has left, Hatake has threatened this before, has grabbed him like this before, and usually he can flinch out of the way fast enough but sometimes like tonight, he’s a little too slow from a hard practice. And then Hatake lets him go, just like always, lets him pull into as small of a ball as he can make his body go, but not silently. He’s apologizing before he even realizes it, and then a silent promise, to himself, to Kanou, to Hatake, to everyone on the team, that he’ll quit pitching, he’ll quit the team now that their season is over and they’re about to go into high school, he’ll just go home after school like everyone else and pitch to his board, because it’s okay if he can just pitch, it’s okay if a board is his catcher, as long as they don’t break his arm, and it’s a little cold in the club room but Mihashi somehow feels even colder, like he’s sitting in an ice bath, or - 

It felt different when Abe dropped out of the Drift the third time, much less painful, and a sudden thought, a sudden reminder that Mihashi shared the neural load with him struck him, and he looked to see Mihashi collapsed against his rig, hands placed hard on his helmet and pulling it off. The alarms rang just like they did for the other two times Abe had fallen out of Drift, but this time, he was moving, disconnecting from the machinery and stepping away, stripping off his helmet and all but tripping over himself to help Mihashi up. Then, he saw the blood, and his heart stopped.

“M… Mihashi…?” Abe breathed, reaching up with reluctant hands to cup Mihashi’s cheeks as his eyes followed the trail of blood from Mihashi’s nose. “Mihashi, open your eyes,” Abe said, the bite of panic acrid on his tongue, and for a second, he was terrified of what he’d see, but other than being a little bloodshot when Mihashi’s eyelids finally flutter open, they were fine.

“He’ll be fine,” a familiar voice said over Abe’s shoulder, and Abe looked up to see Hanai hanging over him, gesturing for Tajima to hand him a tissue from a box on the LOCCENT panel. “It happens to some people when they Drift too much.”

“I c-can still…!” Mihashi started, wincing when Abe dug his knuckles into the sides of Mihashi’s head.

“You _idiot!_ Tell me if you’re getting a headache _before_ you start getting nosebleeds! You’re not Drifting anymore today! What’re you gonna do if you fry your brain, huh?!” Abe snarled as Mihashi curled in on himself, lifting the back of his hand to his bloody nose and smearing it away, and then suddenly Abe remembered the feeling of terror, of seeing Mihashi hunched over and crying and absolutely petrified, so he snatched his hands away, looking at his gloved palms and seeing for just a moment the exact person that had hurt Mihashi.

“Why don’t you go back to your room for a bit and lie down, Mihashi,” Hanai said, handing him the tissue. Mihashi reached up and took it with a quivering hand, holding it gingerly to his nose. Abe growled, reaching over and pinching Mihashi’s nose around the napkin and earning a squawk. “Can you make it back to your room yourself?”

“I’ll take him,” Abe snapped, but as he went to stand, Marshal Momoe entered, arms folded as a sharp smile pulled her lips. 

“No, Tajima-kun can take him. Abe-kun, I want you to come with me.” Abe hissed out a breath of air, looking to Mihashi who was going cross-eyed trying to look at where Abe was pinching his nose for him. He then sighed, reaching over and grabbing Mihashi’s hand, putting it where his own was still holding. 

“Here. Keep pinching it until you get back to the room, then put some ice on it. And don’t lean your head back, or you’ll swallow it and get sick,” Abe said, watching carefully as Mihashi replaced Abe’s pinching fingers with his own, and then stood in a wobbly mess of legs and arms, gripping Tajima’s outstretched hand with his own and muttering a nasally ‘thank you’. The motion pulled at Tajima’s sleeve, and with the unfortunately perfect way Tajima had leaned over to collect Mihashi, Abe got a full view of the purple-red hickey bright on his throat. Gross, Abe thought, then diverted his attention at Mihashi’s back until he left. As soon as the door shut behind the blond, Abe stood from where he’d kneeled on the ground and looked back to Momoe with as much confidence as he could garner in front of his superior after now failing to Drift four times. “What is it, Marshal?” 

Momoe stared at him for a second, then leaned her head back just a bit to look down at him, lips curling even more. “Your Jaeger is here.” 

Abe felt the ground rip from beneath his feet, the air ripped out of his chest as if she’d reached in and torn it out herself. “Can I see it?” he asked, breathless, and the laugh that erupted from her lips was as unexpected as it was perfectly her. 

“Why else do you think I came all the way here? Well, I was hoping Mihashi-kun could see it too, as a motivator of sorts, but I think he’s better off resting right now.” Abe felt himself practically start to vibrate in his shoes, because she’d called it  _his_  Jaeger, and even by fucking up a Drift so much so far he still had primary access to the machine, he and Mihashi were still the primary pilots for it, they still had a chance to make it work. “I’ll let Hanai take you down to the Jaeger bay. Oh, and Abe-kun,” she said, looking over her back when she paused in the middle of walking away, “take care of Mihashi-kun. With only one Jaeger, we can’t win. If you take care of him, he’ll repay your trust with his own, and then we can win.” 

With that, Momoe left, and Abe stood still for a moment digesting what she’d said, mostly wondering what the hell she’d meant, and partially noticing that she’d phrased it so that he would have to trust Mihashi first. He shook his head, grabbing his helmet and turning to Hanai, who looked about as lost at Momoe’s words as he’d felt. 

“I’ll meet you outside the locker room, then,” Abe said, turning to walk away when Hanai nodded his confirmation and went to leave through the LOCCENT part behind Momoe.

Abe stopped in the technician room, letting them dismantle his Divesuit, existing but with his mind elsewhere, in a small club room in Gunma, in a communal beginner Ranger room fourteen flights away, in a classroom filled with envy, outside a home on a makeshift mound… his mind took him to all of those places, Mihashi’s places, running the muffled and hazy emotions through his head again like milk bleeding into water. They weren’t as intense as when he’d experienced them, but he could still feel every single one, and he ran his tongue along the back of his teeth as he thought about Mihashi going back to their room, probably to sit on the couch next to Tajima and talk about baseball, or maybe Jaegers, or whatever it was those two could find to talk about, and suddenly, standing in the locker room with the electromyograph suit half hanging off his body, Abe felt extremely alone.

Before he let the tears fall out of his eyes, he clenched them shut, taking off the electromyograph suit with as much force as he felt he could allow himself in his frustration, turning it right side out and then hanging it properly in his locker. He pulled on his pants, then his shirt, running a hand over his left side and feeling the ridges of scars beneath the cotton, then slamming the locker door shut with a sound that was as final as the turn on his heel that had him in the hallway. 

Next to him, Hanai reclined on the wall with his hands in his pockets, looking up when Abe left the locker room and pushing off. “Ready to go?” he asked, and Abe exhaled with a breath that was riddled with excitement.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

 


	8. tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took forever, I have been sick and at the whims of my turbulent family this past week. But here we are, and I come bearing incredible gifts:
> 
> [seasaltinecrackers - some abemihs](http://seasaltinecrackers.tumblr.com/post/103617638940/heyo-i-started-reading-this-fic-cause-i-m-weak-and)
> 
>  
> 
> [scream] please check that out bc sadie is awesome and i am Eternally Grateful and really can't say enough for how awesome it is You Will Not Regret.
> 
> Reminder that you all are awesome for reading and supporting me, who is but cheese wheel. Thank you all and I hope you enjoy.....

Abe was self-aware enough to know that on a good day, he was just short of absolute shit at making small talk. He could initiate a conversation and hold it long enough to get through an especially crowded elevator, or the three blocks while he walked with an acquaintance before they reached separate roads. On a better day, he could respond when others initiated the small talk, maybe even give them a fabricated smile or two.

A day where he was seeing his Jaeger for the first time was not anywhere near a good day.

He was vaguely aware that Hanai was standing a little awkwardly next to him in the elevator, shifting side to side and probably wondering if he should start said small-talk conversation. The space around them was loud with the mechanisms moving the elevator and not anything else, and for a moment he wondered if Hanai was revving himself up to initiate a conversation, but as soon as Abe’s mind turned back to what the two of them were headed to, he lost all concern for any kind of social posturing and instead glared at the numbers ascending to the Shatterdome’s holding bay. As soon as the doors opened, he stepped out, legs taking him down the short hall and through the doors and Striker Cleanup was to the left, so then to the right, there it was - 

It was  _beautiful_.

It was shorter than Striker Cleanup, especially obvious as the two were docked next to each other, bulkier and with a build that suggested a little more focus on fewer but heavier hits, rather than the speed and dexterity the metal bat Striker Cleanup required in battle. The metal was painted a bare hint of cream with black accents, gleaming unscathed in the light save for where a tarp over the left shoulder that covered where the left breast was. A quick glance didn’t show a team insignia, meaning it was probably under the tarp, Abe suspected, feeling the spark of annoyance because he wanted to  _know_. He was ready to pull on a jacket that had his team logo on the back, ready to feel the pride seeing it painted on their team’s dispatch doors, ready to belong to a Jaeger again.

A hand, heavy on his shoulder, drew his attention but not his gaze. Hanai’s voice hit his ear, not a bit impatient (amused, even) as he was probably understanding exactly what Abe was feeling. “Come on. Let’s go meet with the mechanic. You seem the type to be into the specs.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Abe agreed after registering exactly what Hanai had said, only taking his eyes off of his Jaeger when he walked into a pile of boxes and nearly fell over with a startled noise he would have expected out of Mihashi, not himself.

As he followed Hanai towards the base of the Jaeger, he snuck a few more glances, neck craning more and more as he looked up to the beautiful machine, tripping be damned. There were two long poles tucked behind the right arm, Mihashi’s side, and his own side seemed to be counterbalanced with what looked like a large hand flanked by dual blades. It looked strong, his mind whirring with the need to know exactly what he was working with, its designation, its strengths and weaknesses, absolutely everything until he was dizzy and needed to run twenty kilometers to clear his mind to come back to it all again. His hands clenched into tight fists, his throat swallowing as he noticed that Hanai was getting further and further away from him as Abe’s steps slowed while he stared up at the metal giant, and reluctantly, he picked up his pace to catch up.

As he stepped into place just behind Hanai, he saw a small group of people congregated together and chatting. Two he recognized as Sakaeguchi and Suyama, and the third and fourth he didn’t recognize, though judging from their greased clothes and utility belts, they were probably mechanics of some sort. One had messy dark hair and wide blue eyes, his mouth pressed into an unimpressed line as he looked to the man standing next to him, a bit taller with longer red hair, and a sheepish smile that seemed to be what had prompted the first mechanic’s sour expression. Getting closer, Abe heard the first few snippets of their conversation regarding Suyama returning to work, watching with a vague amusement as Sakaeguchi steadily got more flushed, Suyama not much better despite the shy smile on his face as he rubbed the back of his head. 

“Can’t imagine that he wasn’t doing good work in your room, though,” the red-head said, grin wide and devious on his face as Sakaeguchi’s face blossomed even brighter red, lips pressing hard together. Suyama looked away from their little circle in what was probably desperate embarrassment, and when he saw Hanai, he put a hand on Sakaeguchi’s shoulder, prompting the ginger to raise a hand in greeting and bring both Hanai and Abe into the small conversation’s circle.

“Oh, Abe, Hanai, perfect timing,” Sakaeguchi said in relief as Abe nodded in greeting to Suyama. Sakaeguchi looked a bit more relaxed as he spoke, forcefully diverting the conversation away from his and Suyama’s bedroom activities, though Abe did note that he seemed even more cheerful and pleasant than he had been in a while. Definitely glad that Suyama was back to good health, Abe wagered. “You missed the grand unveiling a bit ago, sadly, but your Jaeger is finally in the official records! We were just talking to the mechanic about it.”

“Suyama, good to see you’re feeling better,” Abe heard Hanai say amicably, seeing out of the corner of his eyes Suyama bumping a friendly shoulder against Hanai’s with a broad smile on the Jumphawk pilot’s face. Suyama then raised an eyebrow, looking up at Hanai with a curious expression while Abe slowly felt the patience drain from his attention span, his Jaeger was  _right there why weren’t they talking about his Jaeger -_

“That soup you brought was awful, by the way. Just about put me in bed for another week.” 

“I’m sure Sakaeguchi would be upset about that,” the red-haired mechanic interjected, earning a jab to the ribs from said equally-red-faced Jumphawk pilot as Hanai spluttered and scowled.

“Okay, look, that was Tajima’s idea, first of all, and it was a recipe he found, and you  _know_  I can’t cook that kind of thing - ”

Abe leaned over a bit to Sakaeguchi in the middle of the conversation-saturated circle, hoping to get Sakaeguchi to say something that would get everyone to shut up so he could meet his mechanic and talk about his Jaeger, but as he did, Sakaeguchi leaned in as well, eyes wide and smiling a bit. “Oh, they were in the Ranger program together, and were almost the co-pilots of the Striker Cleanup before the first time Hanai and Tajima Drifted,” Sakaeguchi said, answering a question Abe hadn’t asked but stunning him nonetheless.

“Wait, Suyama was a Ranger Cadet?” Abe asked, his voice apparently loud enough to bring Hanai and Suyama out of their friendly banter. Suyama nodded, slipping his hands in his pockets as he looked over his shoulder to the line of Jumphawks before looking back to Abe.

“Yeah, I started out in the Ranger program and finished the course, but Hanai was the only person I could Drift with, and with only one Jaeger, Tajima and Hanai’s higher Drift score put them in instead of the two of us. A lot of the Jumphawk pilots are actually Ranger possibles from our class who didn’t make the full cut,” Suyama said. 

Abe looked to Sakaeguchi, who shook his head and laughed lightly as he waved a dismissing hand in front of his face. “Oh, no way. I joined to pilot a Jumphawk, not a Jaeger. I’m not interested in risking getting killed by a Kaiju.” 

Abe hummed, then took the opportunity to look pointedly at the two mechanics he hadn’t met yet, about to say fuck it to proper manners and just  _get_  the details for his Jaeger when finally,  _finally_  Sakaeguchi grabbed him by his sleeve and pulled him over, behind Hanai and over to where the red-head and the snarky freckle-face were standing and bickering. “Anyway, as I was  _trying_  to say earlier,” Sakaeguchi started, briefly shooting Suyama a pointed look that earned no response as Hanai and Suyama were chattering behind them as well as silencing the two mechanics in front of them, “Abe, this is the head mechanic for your Jaeger, Izumi Kousuke, and this is Mizutani Fumiki, the head mechanic for the Striker Cleanup.”

Abe followed Sakaeguchi’s eyes to the first man Abe had seen, extending his hand and shaking it as the mechanic tilted his head and appraisingly looked Abe head to toe. “I’m Izumi. Do me a favor and try not to scratch the paint.” 

“No promises,” Abe replied, putting his hands in his pockets and jerking his head towards the second Jaeger, the one that was his, the one that he needed to know absolutely everything about. “So, I’m guessing it’s not top secret anymore?”

Izumi scoffed. “I’ve already started working on translating the blueprints into Japanese for you, actually. I would have had them finished already, but I fell asleep on the long ride over and didn’t get a chance to finish. Unless of course, your English is good enough that you’d feel comfortable with it?” Abe hesitated, because his English  _had_  been good in high school, but a glance up to the giant mecha had him shaking his head. 

“It would probably be best if it was in Japanese so I get all the terms straight,” Abe said at last, a smooth delight curling in his gut at the thought of having the blueprints hot in his hand. And then, he looked to Izumi, crossing his arms. “Long ride over? So, it was constructed in Alaska, then?”

“Kodiak Island, from the first screw down to the paint. I came across with it since I was in charge of its construction, and also because I can actually speak Japanese so PPDC didn’t have to pay for a language course,” Izumi explained, rolling his head around on his shoulders. “Anyway, your type is easy enough to figure out. Shut up and talk about the Jaeger, right?” Sakaeguchi snorted behind his hand, and Abe merely shrugged. He wasn’t going to look a thankfully perceptive gift horse in the mouth. “Okay, so I’ll begin with the basics.”

Izumi started walking towards the Jaeger, and Abe followed even before Izumi made the gesture for him to do so, staring up at the mech while Izumi started talking. “This is your Jaeger, the newest of the Mark IV line, designation Big Windup. Eighty eight meters, just over eight thousand tons, with a new x22 supercell energy core and sitting pretty at fifty seven full diesel engine blocks per muscle strand. Zero nuclear.”

“Non-nuclear?” Abe repeated, thinking of the small tin of Metharocin in his bathroom drawer brought from when he’d been piloting the 144 Sprinter, the Mach III and nuclear Jaeger he’d cut his chops on. His mother had just about had a heart attack when she’d found out. It hadn’t been a pretty phone call.

“That’s right. No more daily pills,” Izumi said, putting his hands in his pockets and standing in a relaxed posture. “All of the Mark IVs are going to be non-nuclear if this one does well, so, you know. No pressure or anything.” Izumi then turned back to the Jaeger, walking until he was standing at the base of the left foot, walking around until he was standing in front. “The right side is the primary weapon, a 1-20k plasma rifle with a three-point-seven reload time and titanium carbon extendable poles for long-ranged firing. The rifle mechanism is enclosed in a retractable glove that pulls back when firing and comes forward during close combat to protect the fist and weight the blows.”

Abe looked behind the right arm to the two poles he’d seen tucked behind the right arm, then down to the hand. It was a good weapon for Mihashi, Abe thought, before rationalizing that just because he was a good pitcher didn’t mean he was a good shot. He’d have to test it out at the range, Abe decided, following Izumi’s lazy gesture to the left side of the Jaeger.

“Left side had to counterbalance the particle dispersion chamber of the right side, so we weighted the hand and enlarged it, then flanked it on either side with carbon titanium claws for gripping or slashing. They’re somewhat prehensile, but without actual battle data, we didn’t feel comfortable making them more independent than this. Both feet,” Izumi said, gesturing towards the floor and bringing Abe’s gaze down, “are fixed with foot spikes for stabilization of the plasma rifle. Naturally, you’ll only want to engage those during long-raged combat, because you are going to bring this beauty back to me in one piece every time.”

Looking up at the mecha, Abe ran his tongue over the back of his teeth as he felt his brow furrow in thought. Long range combat specialty on the right side and close range combat specialty on the left side. With a 1-20k plasma rifle, it needed the extra weight for grounding, and even though it was slow, the tripod would allow for extra stability and accuracy. He glanced up at the head of the Jaeger, jerking his chin up towards it. “How about the display?”

“Fully photochromic visor, with partial magnification enabled on the right side while the plasma rifle is engaged. We can mess with that later, after we get some data out of you and your pilot during the test runs in the Simulator,” Izumi answered, unintentionally dropping a heavy weight in Abe’s gut. He and Mihashi hadn’t even gotten into the Simulator yet, let alone had enough combat experience to be able to customize their Jaeger appropriately, and all that was a far cry from getting in the machine itself and calibrating it perfectly to their neural pathways. He reached a hand out and rested it on the cold metal of the left foot, a tight knot in his throat as his hand clenched then drew back to his fist.

“I’d like those blueprints as soon as possible,” he said after a few seconds of deep breathing, watching as Izumi twirled some kind of wrench on the side of his hand like it was nothing. “Here, let me give you my number and get yours in case I have any questions about the blueprints.” Abe pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and held it up while Izumi did the same, the bluetooth exchanging their contact information and saving it automatically. Abe checked to make sure it had saved correctly, and indeed, there he was, between ‘emergency’ and ‘laundry’. 

“Oh, are we exchanging phone numbers? Give me yours, Abe!” Sakaeguchi said, jaunting up and pulling his cell phone out too, and Abe stood, pride that he felt only a little bit awkward about it rising in his chest. Sakaeguchi went into his contacts as well, between Mihashi and Shinooka, and then, seeing Mihashi’s name reminded him that he wasn’t piloting this Jaeger alone, and his copilot had gone to their room after blowing enough of a neural load to give himself a nosebleed and a headache. 

“I need to go check on Mihashi,” Abe said, snapping his phone shut and about to leave to do just that when Hanai lifted his hand and called his name.

“You should probably just let him rest,” Hanai said slowly. “He’s probably fallen asleep by now, and that’s the best thing for him to get better faster.”

“Who’s Mihashi?” Izumi asked no one in particular meanwhile, nodding his head and then humming when Sakaeguchi leaned in and whispered what was probably a brief explanation. “Oh, I see. Did he get hurt or something? I was wondering why you were the only one here.”

“Sort of,” Abe responded, looking back to Hanai. “I’m not going to wake him up if he’s sleeping, but I need to see if he needs anything.” Hanai shrugged, muttering a ‘suit yourself’, and with a wave to everyone for politeness that would make his mother sparkle, Abe turned on his heel towards the elevator to get back to the residential floor. He did stop, once, to look over his shoulder at Big Windup, engraving the machine in his mind so he could describe it in complete detail to Mihashi if he  _was_  awake, and then went the rest of the way to the hall, then stepping into the elevator and reaching out for the button. 

Midair, his hand hesitated, and he stared at it, then huffed out a breath of air and pushed the button for their floor. He stepped back, putting his arms behind his back as the elevator started and there was a pull in his gut at the motion, watching as each of the floors between the hanger bay and their room went past. When the doors parted, Abe got off, walking down the quiet hallway and passing the few people that mostly ignored him as much as he ignored them. He reached into his pocket to grab the ring of keys, stepping up to their door, and then, fingers curled around the metal weight warm from his body heat, he paused. He stared at the door, the large round door handle, the hole for the key, each mark in the paint that had probably never been perfect since the day it was hung here, and he thought about what was behind it. Mihashi, maybe curled up in his bunk, or maybe passed out on their couch, eyes shut and chest slowly rising and falling with each breath, maybe frowning a bit because a headache from a neural overload was  _painful_ , and before Abe had really consciously decided, he was stepping backwards, hand releasing the key, eyes still staring at their door but not really focusing on it anymore.

He wanted to see Mihashi, Abe thought, gaze falling down to the floor; he wanted to make sure he was okay, wanted to see if he needed anything, but Hanai was right. It was more important for him to rest, and Abe was a lot of things but quiet and restful were definitely not on that list. He’d learned that about himself long ago, having earned more than one punch to the gut when he’d woken Haruna up from a nap by blazing into their room to gush about his new single Simulator score. No, he couldn’t go in there right now. Mihashi needed to sleep.

A loud clang down the hall had Abe glaring ferociously at the offender, and he used the anger to fuel his decision about what to do since going back to his room wasn’t an option. He turned on his heel back to the elevator, smashing the button for it to come back to their floor, then stepping on and selecting the floor for the Kwoon Combat Room and the gym, closing his eyes and exhaling until the doors were shut and the elevator was moving, bringing him away from the lingering desire to see Mihashi and instead pushing him into the mindset of a fierce workout. It would help him get all of his frustration out, and it would give Mihashi time to rest, not to mention that he hadn’t  had a good workout yet that day, and the frustration from failing to Drift plus the excitement of seeing his Jaeger were the perfect fuel for kicking his own ass. 

The elevator stopped, and Abe walked down the hall into the gym, opening his locker and changing into his sweats and tee shirt. He glanced down at his tennis shoes, then shut the door, walking down the hall past the gym, and into the Kwoon Combat Room. It was empty, which was a little odd as he had been under the impression that the Ranger Cadets had the room during the afternoon, but he wasn’t complaining. He stretched for a few minutes, grabbed a pole and turned it over his wrist once, then used it to stretch even more, until he felt limber and warm.

The first few moments, Abe ran through a few simple movements, using the pole as an extension of his workout rather than a weapon. Each set, he dug deeper and stretched further, pushing himself more as his muscles started to feel the twinge of strain. More advanced movements came next, the five, six, seven-stepped moves he’d perfected, until he was sweating and breathing with his shoulders. It felt good though, the best kind of ache as the pole moved with his body, until slowly he lost track of the time and went by muscle memory alone, each step in an elegant motion until there was sudden movement in his face, and vertigo, and then he was on his back, the ceiling in his eyes and the air knocked out of his body.

“What are you doing here?” a familiar voice asked, and Abe slowly sat up to see Tajima standing next to him, pole in his hand and freckled face curiously devoid of his usual carefree grin.

“I  _was_  working out,” Abe responded, shooting a pointed glower to where Tajima was holding the pole in his hand perpendicular to the floor, then standing slowly. He put his hands on top of the pole, leaning on it a bit. “How’s Mihashi doing?”

A second of silence, then Tajima’s short answer. “He’s fine. Tired and headachy, but that’s to be expected. I’m surprised you didn’t go see him.”

Abe felt a twinge of a cutting edge in the last statement and wondered if it was just his imagination, but he felt his face dip a bit into a frown reflexively in response. “I didn’t want to wake him up if he was sleeping.” He almost asked how Tajima knew he hadn’t gone to see Mihashi, but figured that he’d probably stayed after taking the blond to their room, or something.

“And if he wasn’t sleeping?” Tajima said, fingers tightening around the pole in his hand, and Abe’s eyes cut to the motion before sliding back to Tajima’s face, once again reminded that Tajima was a bit of a clown, yes, but he was also half of one of the top Jaeger teams in Japan. His eyes were sharp, piercing into Abe’s, looking for something and gouging Abe’s skin to find it. The dip in his lips told Abe the search was perhaps not as fruitful as the pilot had wanted. “Hey, Abe. Want to spar Academy-style?”

Abe felt his spine stiffen at the question. It had been a long time since he’d sparred not to find a Drift-compatible partner, but to  _win_. It was a completely different style, and something in Tajima’s body language told him he wasn’t going to like what was at the other end of the pole in Tajima’s hand. The negative response crawled up his throat, but he looked into Tajima’s eyes, and he suddenly felt a spark of irritation at the accusation that was so thinly veiled and temporary Abe blinked and it was gone, the accusation that was more of a feeling than words, a feeling that was somehow centered around Mihashi and tugged Abe’s gut in anger, and suddenly Abe was gripping his pole tighter too, jaw stiffening as he answered. “Yeah, sure.”

The few seconds between Tajima sinking into a sparring pose and the blossom of a painful bruise on Abe’s side were almost a blur. Abe dodged backwards quickly, hissing at the tug of muscle around his new wound but adrenaline allowing the twist that had his pole swinging forward. Tajima dodged, then stepped forward beneath Abe’s swipe, and it was a breath that separated Abe and a second purple splotch.

Abe kicked forward, golden eyes flashing in his mind as he stole Mihashi’s favorite move, catching Tajima’s heel and sending the smaller pilot to his back. Before Abe could land a blow, he watched as Tajima rolled with the kind of dexterity that should be impossible, on his feet again and eyes flashing as he hopped onto the balls of his feet to dodge Abe’s pole. The wood clacked together noisily in the room as Abe barely managed to get his pole into a block for the swing that was aimed at his collar bone, and then Abe was stepping backwards as Tajima pushed forward with each step. Abe clenched his teeth, preparing for the strike of pain as he intentionally left his left side open. Tajima struck, and Abe used the opportunity to land a blow of his own on Tajima’s arm that had the smaller pilot yelping, and then there was a flash of movement before Abe felt excruciating pain in his face, and with a clack of wood as his pole hit the floor, it was over. 

“Fuck…!” he ground out, hand clenching his nose and feeling the hot wetness of blood. He opened his eyes to see Tajima holding his arm with a pained expression, and then the smaller pilot gave a satisfied nod that had Abe’s heckles rising, ten thousand different explosions of the pain and anger rupturing in his gut before he swallowed them all down, pulling his hand away and wincing at his hand when he saw just how much he was bleeding.

“I don’t  _think_  I broke it, but you’ll probably want to go get that looked at just in case,” Tajima said, pulling up his sleeve and looking at the bruise blossoming on his arm. “Ah man, you got me real good, didn’t you.” Abe rolled his eyes, but they  _had_  agreed on an Academy-style spar, and he  _had_  agreed on it, making the bloodied nose a lucky minor end to a brutal fight. He’d seen people have to be dragged off the floor before, in his early days at Musashino when the new recruits would be hazed by the fresh graduates of the last class, and while a bloody nose was exactly how he’d found out he and Haruna were somehow Drift compatible despite everything Abe had done to get away from him, it felt different at Tajima’s hands, less like he’d lost and more like he’d been chastised for something. He opened his mouth to ask just what the hell Tajima was thinking, but he tasted the blood dribbling into his mouth, and he closed his lips and eyes, then sighed, picking up his pole and walking over to the side of the room to put it up. He was done for the day.

Abe went back to the locker room and grabbed his clothes, walking back to his and Mihashi’s room with his bare feet, one hand holding a bag with his clothes and shoes and the other pinching at his pained nose. The elevator took far too long to get to the gym floor, and was achingly loud with the silence as he stood by himself waiting for it to bring him down to his floor. It creaked with movement, and when it stopped, Abe passed by someone who did a double-take at the blood on his shirt but wisely did not comment. 

It was a struggle getting his hand on his key, as it was in his right pocket and his right hand was currently occupied keeping the blood from getting on his shirt any worse than it already was, but he managed, grunting when the motion caused his fresh bruises to pull beneath his skin. More unsavory thoughts towards the Striker Cleanup pilot, and then he was opening the door. It made an awful racket, and he winced, grabbing it and opening it as slowly as possible before realizing that just made the high whine longer and even  _more_  obnoxious. He shut it quickly when he stepped inside the dark room, eyes wide as he looked around for Mihashi’s blond mop without turning on a light and tip toeing further into the room when he didn’t. He looked around the corner into Mihashi’s bunk bed, and when he didn’t see a lump under the blanket, he turned, exhaling softly when he saw Mihashi curled up on the couch, hand tucked under his cheek and smooshing it cutely. Abe stared for a moment, looking for any sign of discomfort, then feeling a bit of tension slip out of his shoulders when he didn’t find any.

Abe dropped his bag carefully behind the couch, padding over to the bathroom and stepping inside. He shut the door before he turned on the light, then looked in the mirror and winced at his reflection. He’d gotten blood all over his shirt after all, though when he finally lowered his hand, he looked and figured that Tajima didn’t seem to have broken his nose. The bleeding had mostly stopped, and Abe tossed the tissue in the trash, reaching over to the shower and twisting the hot water on while he stripped off his clothes and chucked them in the basket. He’d have to ask Mihashi what the laundry protocol was when he woke up, Abe figured, stepping into the shower and letting the hot water pelt his exhausted muscles. He hadn’t even realized how stiff he was. He’d be sore as hell tomorrow, he thought sourly, grabbing the soap and grunting as the bruise on his left side kindly brought itself to his attention.

He cleaned himself of all his post-workout grime, then stepped out and toweled off his hair. He wiped a spot clear on the mirror as best as he could to examine his nose, poking at it gently and finding that it was apparently through bleeding. He wrapped the towel around his waist, then opened the door, following the cloud of steam into the room that was a good bit chillier than the bathroom had been.

“Abe-kun,” Mihashi said suddenly, eyes peering over the back of the couch and his voice startling Abe. “Have you been… back long?”

Abe shook his head, stepping forward once his heart slipped back into his chest. “No, I just got back before I got in the shower. Lie back down. You need to rest.” Mihashi disappeared behind the couch again, and Abe walked around to their dresser, looking over his shoulder to see wide golden eyes staring at him from where Mihashi was lying down, legs pulled up and hands clutching the pillow beneath his head. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Mihashi responded softly, and Abe turned, pulling on a pair of boxers beneath the towel before tossing it over his shoulder. He then pulled on a clean pair of sweat pants, padding over to the bathroom and hanging his towel up on a hook before returning to the couch. Mihashi shuffled a bit before Abe could sit on the floor, and he huffed, but took the seat Mihashi had cleared for him. He patted his lap, staring into Mihashi’s uncomprehending eyes before rolling his own and grabbing Mihashi’s shoulders. With a yelp from his copilot, Abe pulled, until Mihashi’s head was resting on his thigh, Mihashi’s hands clutching Abe’s pants and his spine stiff as a rod.

“Either you relax or I’m going to sit on the floor,” Abe snapped, reaching over for the remote and turning on the television. He turned the volume down as far as it would go for him to still hear it, flipping through in search of the news channel he’d found the first night he was at Nishiura. Mihashi relaxed almost immediately, probably more out of guilt that Abe really would sit on the floor than actual relaxation, but he stiffened again, and before Abe could threaten him again, there was a soft touch at the edge of the tender pain on his side, and Mihashi was shifting. Abe looked down and saw Mihashi’s fingers tracing the edge of the bruise beginning to darken nicely on his side, a troubled expression on his face. 

“What…? Was that…”

“No, it wasn’t anything from this morning,” Abe said, irritation at the thought that Mihashi  _would_  freak out if he caused Abe harm in any way, though there was also a slight tendril of pleasure in the thought, like Mihashi cared in his own weird way. It felt nice, nice enough for Abe to look back down and pat Mihashi on the head until he squeaked. “I sparred with Tajima a bit and he got me good. That’s all.”

“Tajima-kun… did this?” Mihashi repeated, his face getting a sour pout that would have been hilarious if it wasn’t so  _strange_  on the blond’s face, so unlike any expression Abe had ever seen, and a sudden reminder that Abe didn’t really know Mihashi very well at all, and in fact had only known him for a few days. He scowled, the hand that had rested on Mihashi’s head ruffling the blond hair beneath it, then gripping it as Abe forced Mihashi’s eyes to meet his own. 

“Get that look off your face. I gave him a few bruises too. Now get some rest, and when you wake up, I’ll tell you about our Jaeger.”

Mihashi closed his eyes, and Abe looked back to the television, flipping through a few more channels, but it was only about thirty seconds before there was a huff against his hip bone and Mihashi’s hand tightened on his pants leg where he’d clenched his fingers. “Abe-kun… can you tell me now? And then I’ll sleep?”

Abe looked down at Mihashi again, and he knew when he exhaled that he’d lost, and Mihashi sat up, sitting seiza on the couch next to him, hands on his thighs and body leaning forward with rapt interest. “You’re impossible, you know that?” Abe said, reaching up and mussing up Mihashi’s hair, earning a brief squawk. “Oh, by the way, you have to tell me how the laundry works here. I got some blood in my shirt and I don’t want it to stain.”

“B… blood….?!” Mihashi repeated, face going pale and woozy. “What did…?!”

“Calm down!” Abe snapped, reaching over and steadying Mihashi by grasping his shoulder. Mihashi nodded, though his face stayed deathly pale, his eyes wide and scanning Abe’s body, probably looking for the injury in the dim light of the television. “I have the phone number in my phone but I don’t know what to do with it.”

“O-oh, you just… put your clothes in the basket, and put… the top on it, it has… the number! For the room! And then, they get it, and the next day, you get… clean,” Mihashi answered, leaning in a bit more, and right when Abe was about to snap at him to back off, Mihashi’s eyes widened even more, his breath a sharp exhale against Abe’s face. “Nose… bleed? Abe-kun too?”

“Tajima again,” Abe answered, irritation filling his voice even to his own ears. “We sparred Academy-style, and I lost.”

“Oh,” Mihashi answered, reaching up before Abe noticed and fingers lightly touching his nose. “Does… hurt?” 

“Not much anymore, but don’t go poking it. I don’t want to bleed on these pants too,” Abe said, and when Mihashi’s hand fell from his face and rested on his shoulder, he was very suddenly aware of the fact that he’d neglected to put a shirt on, but before he could, Mihashi shook his head rapidly, then leaned in again, eyes sparkling even in the dim light of the television screen.

“Jaeger…!” he reminded, fingers tight on Abe’s shoulder, and his expression made Abe’s heart beat a little faster with excitement, because it was the same kind of desperate hunger for knowledge he’d felt earlier looking at the machine in person, and seeing it reflected in Mihashi’s eyes was a wonder. 

“We’re getting the blueprints soon, but it’s called Big Windup. Cream and black, and you’ve got a plasma rifle as your weapon, with my side having a weighted hand and two blades. How are you with a gun?” Abe asked, and Mihashi shrugged.

“Decent…? I didn’t really like using them, but it’s different in… in a Jaeger,” he answered, and Abe nodded. Part of basic training had been general weapons competency, and he hadn’t liked using a firearm either, but he’d been good enough to pass. He looked at Mihashi, then nodded.

“We’ll get you in the range so you can practice your shots at least until we can Drift and get into the Simulation and have you practicing with Big Windup’s calibrations. I’ll be a little different, but it probably won’t hurt to at least get you started,” Abe said, rubbing a hand along his jaw. Mihashi nodded again, and Abe hissed out a breath, reaching out and grabbing Mihashi’s shoulder in a tight hold. “Look, I know you’re excited, and I’m excited too, but you need to rest for the rest of the day, okay? We’ll think about what to do tomorrow.”

“But - !” Mihashi started, but a sharp glare from Abe was enough to have him sulking. Abe released his hand, looking back to the television until Mihashi slid off the couch, stepping over to their beds.

“Mihashi, use my bed. I don’t want you to get up there where I can’t take care of you,” Abe said, not looking away from the television and missing Mihashi’s expression, but figuring it was something spectacular if the squawk he heard was anything to go by. He smothered an amused grin with the palm of his hand as he leaned against the arm of the couch, not wanting Mihashi to see that he was anything less than absolutely firm. There was a rustle of blankets, and a soft ‘goodnight, Abe-kun’, and then Abe exhaled softly, finding the news channel at last and putting the remote down next to him. Tomorrow, he thought, watching a brief recount of Tajima and Hanai’s last battle against a Kaiju. Tomorrow.

 


	9. ruination

It was a quiet night in the Team Striker Cleanup room, darkness tickling the walls as Hanai flipped lazily through the channels on the television. The light flashing from the screen each time he switched to the next caused the shadows to dance about their things, straining his eyes but his bed a little too comfortable for him to get up to turn on a lamp. The only sound was the snippets of the voices each time he flicked through, or the occasional commercial jingle. He yawned and relaxed more, sort of wanting to fall asleep, but he kept the television just loud enough so that he didn’t, because somehow it didn’t feel right not at least waiting until Tajima came back from whatever it was he was doing.

Just before he was about to turn off the television and give up, their door opened quietly after the muted clank of a key against the hole on the other side, and there was a slice of light pouring in from the hall, and then the distinct bang of metal as the door shut heavily. Curious, Hanai put the television on mute, looking over his shoulder in time to see Tajima strip off his shirt and toss it into the basket they kept in the corner with a hiss of breath. The shorter pilot ran a hand through his hair, kicking off his shoes as he padded up to the back of the room where Hanai was lying on his bed, and when he finally got close enough for Hanai to see the expression, Hanai felt his eyebrows rise towards his forehead. 

“What happened?” he asked, and Tajima stood next to his bed, eyes locked on the television screen, and it was then that Hanai saw the huge bruise on his arm. Sitting up quickly, head just barely missing crashing into Tajima’s bunk, he snatched out his hand, gripping Tajima’s forearm and pulling him close so he could look. “Tajima, what the hell happened?!” 

“He didn’t go see Mihashi,” Tajima said quietly, eyes still staring at the television, and Hanai looked up into his face, watching the dancing light of a commercial dance around his high, freckled cheekbones. Eyes that cut down to him, glowing with a green tint when the screen turned to the weather. “Mihashi cried for an hour, and he didn’t go see him.”

“Abe, you mean?” Hanai asked, and a sudden guilt sank deep into his gut. Shit. “I told him not to go, though I’m honestly surprised he listened to me.” Tajima’s eyes widened just a bit, mouth pressing into a firm line. “He looked like hell when we went to go get them, so I figured it would be better if he got some sleep.”

In the blink of an eye, pain blossomed on Hanai’s shoulder, and he jolted away from where Tajima had pinched him ferociously, face screwing up into an ugly scowl. “Tajima, what the fuck - ?!” 

“He cried for an hour because Abe didn’t come see him,” Tajima said, and Hanai stilled on the bed, hand still pressed to where the pain was throbbing on his skin, staring up into the kind of expression he hadn’t seen since their last year in the Jaeger Academy, walking in on him and Suyama getting a little handsy in the electromyograph storage closet. Hanai lowered his hand, reaching back out to grab Tajima’s arm to look at the bruise.

“You got in a fight with him?” he asked, though he didn’t really need to hear an answer. The bruise was a very familiar shape, after all, and Hanai had earned more than one of them on his own body when Tajima had gotten pissed at him. He ran his thumb over the edges carefully, as surprised as always at the softness of Tajima’s skin pulling taught over firm muscle that jumped at his touch.

“I should have gotten in a fight with you,” Tajima said, pulling his arm away. “Mihashi’ll probably yell at me tomorrow, and now I’ll have to apologize. It’s all your fault, you know.”

“Since when were the two of you such good friends, anyway?” Hanai asked, reaching over again for Tajima’s arm and trying to tug him until he collapsed on Hanai’s bed. Tajima leaned away from the pull, and then he shoved Hanai at the shoulders, straddling his partner once he was lying back on his bed. Tajima's hips squeezed, gripping Hanai’s tightly and causing him to suck in a breath at the sudden position. Hanai felt the heat blossom on his skin, eyes staring as Tajima tangled his fingers in the metal coils beneath his bed, then falling to the skin still hot and salt-streaked from his workout. Abe had given him a run for his money, then, he thought distantly, a last sort of desperate attempt to keep some kind of conscious thought in his mind. 

And then Hanai bit down on his lower lip to keep the groan in his chest when Tajima’s core muscles undulated, hips moving in a slow, heavy circle against his own. His fingers clenched in the mussed sheets beneath his palms, then slowly dragged along his sides, fingertips lightly touching Tajima’s knees. He looked from Tajima’s stomach, up his chest, to see the cinnamon eyes burning, arms absolutely delicious where they were flexed around Tajima’s head, and Hanai couldn’t help it; he slid his hands over Tajima’s sweat pants on the outside of his thighs, feeling the trembling heat in his palms, watching with hazy eyes as Tajima licked his lips around a whine, grinding in again, harder.

“You know,” Tajima said on an exhale, fingers wiggling deeper into the springs of his bed, “I really wanna fuck you, Azusa.” Hanai couldn’t swallow the begging excuse of a groan that clawed its way out of his throat if he’d wanted to at the deep richness of Tajima’s husky tone. “I was so pissed, and…” he rolled his hips hard, in perfect unison with Hanai’s own arching pressure, and Tajima’s scarred back was hot glory in his hands. Tajima’s dog tags caught a shard of light from the television, drawing Hanai’s gaze down to them for a split second before he looked back to Tajima’s flushed freckles. “…I was going to come in here and fuck it all away, just… pin you to the bed, get my mouth all over you, maybe… maybe suck you a bit before I made you ride me. That’s - “ Tajima hissed in a breath, then let it quiver out of his mouth after he bit his lower lip hard, “that’s what I was gonna do.”

“Yuu,” Hanai panted breathlessly, digging his nails into the flexing skin that slipped beneath his fingertips like satin. He wanted to keep staring, needed to burn this image in his mind, wanted to curl upwards and suck at the place on Tajima’s mouth that he always nibbled when he thought hard and maybe bite that place on his throat that sometimes got chaffed by his electrocardiograph suit, wanted to sink inside Tajima and never come out. 

And then, Tajima leaned forward, chest pressing hard against Hanai’s and hips sliding slowly together as he stretched his legs down, settling between Hanai’s legs firmly. There was wetness at his throat, Tajima’s mouth on the softness beneath his jaw, and a sharp pain of a hard suck that had Hanai scrambling for Tajima’s hips to rub their hard cocks together. With that, Tajima rolled off, standing beside Hanai’s bed with his erection tenting his sweatpants, a satisfied look on his face. “Well, y’know, that’s what I  _was_  planning on doing. But I think I’ll just do it myself, now.”

Hanai stared, incredulous, as Tajima mounted the steps into his top bunk, and then there came flopping down onto the floor next to him a pair of sweatpants, and the obviously exaggerated sound of Tajima spitting into his hand. “You son of a bitch,” Hanai moaned as he reached down and reached down into his own sweatpants, grabbing his cock hard as he heard the fast sounds of Tajima fucking his hand. 

He came hard into his hand, but it was unsatisfying even with the sound of Tajima coming at the same time above him on a boiling-hot squeal of his name, and he lied in his bed panting, glaring at the bottom of the bed ahead of him and hoping Tajima felt it in the sweaty, muscled, scratched back pressing hard into it. “You’re going to pay for that,” he threatened, grabbing a tissue and then two more, reaching up as Tajima reached down with a glistening wet hand, still in the same perfect unity.

\----------

Breakfast the next morning went a little more smoothly, as Mihashi took over the difficult tasks immediately (such as putting the soup on to boil) and left the simple tasks for Abe (putting the toast in the toaster and pushing the button, and watching ‘very carefully, Abe-kun’). He stared at the toast, ignoring the black spot that was still infuriatingly on the wall despite the fact that Abe had tried to scrub it off last night while Mihashi slept, determined not to let the toast be anything other than golden perfection. 

“You can let it go all the way through the cycle,” Mihashi said the third time Abe popped them up prematurely to see if they were finished, and though his ears burned, he checked twice more before he deemed them finished. He put the toast on two plates and brought it over to the table, where Mihashi had already placed a bowl of pretty cut fruit. “Watch out,” he said, and Abe watched as Mihashi scooped a single fried egg on each of the pieces of toast, then turned back to put the pan on the stove to cool while they ate. Abe made himself useful by getting two glasses of juice, and when he sat down across from the blond, he felt somewhat satisfied that they’d made the meal together.

After chewing the first bite, Abe put his toast down, stabbing a piece of the cantaloupe with a fork and bringing it to his mouth. “So, I was thinking we could go to the firing range first thing this morning, since it’ll probably be busy later this afternoon. Then, after lunch, we can go see if the Drift Simulator is available.”

“Okay,” Mihashi responded around a bite of fruit, dabbing a napkin embarrassedly to his chin when a bit of the juice dribbled out. Abe politely pretended he hadn’t seen it, though that didn’t keep the searing red out of Mihashi’s cheeks for the rest of the meal, or afterwards when Abe was washing the dishes and Mihashi drying them, shoulders hunched up to his ears. 

When they were finished, Abe grabbed his set of keys out of the little bowl that Mihashi had placed on the table by the door, which he held open for Mihashi to exit through first. He turned, locked up, then walked towards the elevator in a mostly comfortable silence. Mihashi pressed the button on the elevator, and once they were on the contraption and Mihashi had selected the correct floor for the firing range, Abe watched out of the corner of his eye as the blond fidgeted nervously.

“What is it?” he asked, and Mihashi jumped, eyes wide on Abe’s face before he looked down to the floor, fingers curling around themselves. 

“I w-was wondering, if… today, we could… I haven’t seen…”

“…Our Jaeger?” Abe guessed after a second of more garbled Japanese, earning an affirmative sound and a firm nod. A successful communication, Abe thought triumphantly, his joy causing him to lean over and bump his shoulder into Mihashi’s. “Sure thing. Let’s go after we hit up the Drift Simulator.”

Mihashi bloomed with pleasure, his nervous energy instead seeming to focus into a determined set of his jaw as he turned to stare hard at the reflective doors of the elevator. Abe gazed for a moment longer, then pulled away to the shifting red numbers above the button pad. Before too long, the elevator stopped, and Mihashi stepped out first, leading the way down a long hall towards the gun range.

It wasn’t too different from the one in Musashino, Abe noted, showing his identification card to the attendant. He took the safety glasses and ear mufflers, asking for a semi-automatic and taking the black bag when it was handed to him off the top shelf. Mihashi requested the same, and they put their glasses on and their ear mufflers before going through the door out to the different lanes. Other than a couple of others that were much older, they were the only ones there. 

Abe put his bag down on the shelf, unzipping it to make sure that the muzzle was faced down-range. When it was, he took it out, slipping the slide open and checking that the magazine was removed and then the chamber to ensure that it was fully unloaded. Then, he placed the gun down on the bench, ejection port facing upwards, as he looked over to Mihashi in the booth next to him. He was already staring at Abe, his gun unloaded and waiting on him. Already demonstrating basic proficiency better than he had, Abe thought amusedly, nodding at Mihashi as he reached up and pushed the button so that his target rode the conveyer far down the range. Mihashi did the same, and Abe watched him load the gun with hands that were not especially familiar, but competent. Clicking the magazine into place, Mihashi lifted the gun, eyes wide down towards his target, and he put his finger on the trigger. Abe looked down to Mihashi’s target, and with a loud bang, a bullet hole appeared in the red kill zone. 

Mihashi looked over to Abe, who flashed him a thumb’s up before loading his own gun. He wasn’t the primary controller of the plasma rifle, but his brain was holding enough of the neural load for him to feel it was necessary to at least refresh his gun control, he thought, hands moving more slowly than Mihashi’s had. Then, he lifted the gun, and put his finger on the trigger. He shot, the weapon jumping a bit in his hands at the recoil, and his bullet hole appeared right on the edge of the kill zone.  Close enough to pass basic, but not as good as Mihashi’s shot had been. The bruise on his side from sparring with Tajima protested sharply at the motion, but he gritted his teeth and refocused his shot.

It was a few hours of alternating shooting and resting before Abe finished all five clips he’d gotten from the range officer at the front desk. At the end, he unloaded his gun by stripping it of its magazine, checking the chamber, and then putting the whole thing back into the black bag. He zipped it up, then pushed the button for his target to come flying back to him where it was held. Most of the shots were clustered around the kill zone, with a few strays, and one or two lucky bulls-eyes. Not too bad, he mused, though when he looked over to Mihashi and saw that he’d missed the kill zone only… eight times, he felt the pout pull on his face. Mihashi, on the other hand, looked very pleased with himself. 

They both grabbed the bags and returned them to the range safety officer, who went through them while Abe pulled the ear mufflers off his head, then the safety glasses. “Okay, you’re good,” Abe said the moment Mihashi had also removed his own ear mufflers, blond hair sticking up at odd angles even more than usual because of them. Mihashi hummed, hanging the range safety officer his goggles and ear muffs as soon as the man confirmed that all firearms had been returned and they were clear to leave, looking down at his hands that were probably buzzing like Abe’s were. 

“I’m going to practice more, though… lots!” Mihashi responded, clenching his hands into fists and looking up to Abe. “Because we’re going to be the best!” 

Abe blinked, then felt the grin on his face, leaning over to ruffle Mihashi’s hair victoriously. Mihashi squawked pleasantly at the motion, and Abe pulled back, huffing out a breath and feeling a tension leave his body he hadn’t even known he was carrying. “Okay, let’s go get some lunch, and then we can go to the simulator,” Abe said, and Mihashi nodded, turning away and leading the way back to the elevator. His arms were swinging happily, Abe watched, biting on his amused smile. The elevator was filled with Mihashi’s happy little breathy hums, the same little noises he made whenever he was excited about something, and when they got to the floor with the cafeteria, the blond led the charge down towards the smell of food. 

It was busier than usual, considering that they had come closer to the rush peak hour than the off hour Abe usually tried to shoot for. They flashed their identification cards, and this time Abe paid attention, indeed watching as a brief light flashed over his card. Catching his number and charging his account, certainly. He sent a silent thank you to the back of Mihashi’s head for a good, cheaper breakfast. 

When he had his tray clutched in his hands, he followed Mihashi’s meandering through the tables, figuring that he’d spotted somewhere in the crowd of people to sit. And then, when he saw that Mihashi was headed towards where Tajima, Hanai, and Izumi were sitting, he felt a tug of hesitation, wondering if the shorter pilot was still pissed at him for not having gone to see Mihashi.  However, the pilot of the Striker Cleanup looked up to see him and Mihashi approaching, and he grinned widely, waving his arm high above his head and calling for the two of them to sit in two of the three available seats across the table. 

“Oh, Abe, it was a misunderstanding yesterday, so, no hard feelings about your nose, right?” Tajima said as soon as Abe sat down from a very suddenly uncomfortable-looking Hanai, and Abe blinked at him, then at Mihashi, who had almost visibly bristled at his fellow pilot. Abe stared, absolutely intrigued at the peculiar curl of Mihashi’s lips that he had never seen before, and - and he almost would say he looked… angry? Pissed? 

Tajima looked at Mihashi as well, fork halting in the air halfway between his plate and his food. “I said it was a misunderstanding!” A terse few more seconds, and Tajima put his fork down noisily on his tray. “Fine, okay, geez! Abe, I’m sorry about your nose.” Abe jolted a bit when Mihashi’s hazel eyes snapped over to his face, staring at him carefully, and he swallowed, looking to Tajima.

“Y-yeah, no problem,” he said, looking back to Mihashi to see that bizarre expression fall off the blond’s face as he finally reached down for his fork to take a bite of his food. Abe looked back to Tajima, who leaned over and poked Mihashi’s forehead and laughed, earning a startled noise before Mihashi leaned over his tray, telling Tajima about how cool the news report on their takedown of the Kaiju Blue Sprinter had looked on the news, all previous animosity apparently gone between the two. Abe exhaled heavily, somehow a bit exhausted at the exchange that had just happened, though it was replaced with a bitter grumpiness at the fact that Tajima had so easily deciphered what Mihashi’s face meant when he wasn’t even the one getting in the blond’s head all the time. Not that he himself was doing a great job of that, but still.

Abe looked over to Izumi, who looked haggard and had dark bags under his eyes that could support a world-round backpacking trip. He looked up with tired eyes, and when they met with Abe’s, the mechanic made a soft acknowledging noise. “Oh, Abe, you’re… you’ve got really shit timing, damn.”

“Huh?!” Abe said, watching as Izumi lazily pulled the spoon out of his mouth and stared at it, arm propping his head up where his elbow was resting on the table top. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“I stayed up all night finishing those stupid blueprints for you. If I’d known you were going to be here at lunch, I would have brought them with me to get them off my desk.” Izumi took a long sip of what smelled like coffee out of a thermos, grimacing with a curse when he shifted and his leg smacked into something metallic beneath the table. 

Abe looked to Mihashi, who was stuffing his cheeks full of what looked like mashed potatoes, and remembered his promise to take him to see their Jaeger. He directed his attention back to Izumi, who was poking his food without interested. “Why don’t I come with you after lunch and get them? Mihashi needs to see our Jaeger, anyway.”

A sudden hacking and Abe jerked his head to see Mihashi choking around the food in his mouth. He reached for his water and drank a few huge gulps, then looked at Abe with sparkling eyes. “I wanna see - !”

“I know. We’ll go right after lunch.”

“…I’m done!” 

“You haven’t even finished half your food!” Abe shouted, causing Mihashi to squeak and shovel more food into his mouth, wobbling pathetically. Izumi snorted, taking another drink of his coffee. 

“Yeah, sure, sounds fine with me. I’m probably gonna go pass out for a while anyway, so it’s best if you come get it now.” 

Within a few minutes, Mihashi had inhaled every bit of his food, then turned batting eyelashes on Abe while he ate his at a more reasonable pace. Abe glared down at his tray, feeling the burning stare of his copilot on the side of his head, until finally he put his fork down. He’d eat his brownie on the way out, he supposed, standing after Mihashi’s undignified scramble and following him to toss out their trash and return their trays. He snagged his brownie, and nibbled on it as Mihashi chased after where Izumi was leading the way down the hall to the separate elevator that went down to the holding bay. 

“A-Abe-kun told me about it yesterday, but,” Mihashi started, hands fiddling with his dog tags as he stepped close to Izumi’s hunched form. Abe listened as Izumi went over the main details with Mihashi, nothing different from yesterday but the same excitement burning deep in his gut as he heard all of the specifications again. Even with Izumi’s lackluster delivery, he and Mihashi were both practically vibrating by the time the elevator came to a stop and they entered the hall to the holding bay. And then, when the doors slid open, Abe heard the hitched gasp to his left when Mihashi saw Big Windup, a tight grasp on his wrist all but cutting off the circulation to his hand. 

“That’s it,” Mihashi said, looking up at the machine with huge eyes. Abe nodded, unable to say anything in the majesty of the great machine, even though he knew Mihashi wouldn’t see it, couldn’t see anything besides their Jaeger. He’d been the same way, yesterday, was that way even a little bit today, even with the grounding throb of his left hand crying out for more blood than Mihashi was letting pass beneath clenched fingers. That pitcher grasp, Abe thought, finally looking away and down to Mihashi’s hand where it was white with the tightness of his clenched fingers. Good for a steady hold on a plasma rifle too, if his performance in the gun range that morning had been any indicator.

“Okay, you two… stay here and hold hands, I guess. I’ll go grab the blueprints,” Izumi drawled, raising his mug as he stepped off towards the side. Abe watched him go, then looked over to the Jumphawks to see if he could see Suyama and Sakaeguchi there. He didn’t see either of them near the black helicopters, so he brought his gaze back to their Jaeger where it towered above them both, taking in the cream and black with a tug of pride and excitement deep in his gut that he knew was mirrored in Mihashi’s. He’d felt the hunger in the blond, and even though their Drift was strange and incomplete, it had felt real, and their drive was the same.

Minutes later, Izumi returned, his mug of coffee exchanged for a thick stack of papers. He was thumbing through them as he walked, and when he reached Abe, he handed them over. “There they are, all translated into Japanese. Some of the kanji might not make the most sense, but whatever, you can use a dictionary. Let me know if you need any help. Oh, and, don’t go sharing those around. It’s still sorta top secret, technically speaking.”

“Got it. Thanks,” Abe said, prying his hand away from Mihashi’s tight grasp to flip through them himself. His left hand tingled with the sudden return of oxygen, but he ignored it in favor of looking at all the specs of the machine in front of them, the machine that still had Mihashi so enraptured. “Mihashi, you can read this tonight, too,” Abe said, trying to catch his attention and excitement. They still needed to go to the simulator, after all. When it didn’t work, Abe tried again. “Mihashi.” Nope. Reaching over, Abe gripped his shoulder and shook lightly, earning a squawk. “Mihashi!”

“Wha - wha?” Mihashi stammered, blinking rapidly, then blushing light pink. “O-oh, I’m sorry, Abe-kun. Did you…?” 

“I said, you can look at the blueprints tonight,” Abe repeated, and Mihashi looked down at them, then made a sour face. “What, you don’t want to?” 

“U-um, it’s not… it’s not that I don’t want to, but… I’m not… It’s hard,” Mihashi said, looking down at the difficult kanji and all the numbers and serializations on the sheet. Abe sighed, shaking his head as he reached up and smacked Mihashi lightly on the head with the stack of papers. 

“All right. I’ll read it and then tell you the important parts,” Abe said, and Mihashi made a relieved sound on an exhale. Then, his spine straightened, and his eyes leveled with Abe’s, still glittering but also with that same tenacity that Abe knew so well now, the strength that was at the very core of Mihashi’s drive, and a brief second before Mihashi even opened his mouth, Abe knew exactly what he was going to say. 

“I want to try and Drift,” Mihashi said, in perfect time with the mental voice in Abe’s head. There was a bolt of electricity that shot down his spine, and this time, the tingling in his fingertips wasn’t from the lingering recoil of a gun or from the lack of blood because of his catcher’s grasp. It was distilled adrenaline, shooting through his system and sending his heart rate into something that had his breath picking up noticeably. 

“Let’s go do it,” Abe said, looking to Izumi to thank him again only to see that the mechanic had already disappeared, probably to go crash into his nap. Abe brought his eyes back to meet where Mihashi had yet to pull his own away, and with another thrill that had his lips pulling into a smile he couldn’t stop, Abe gripped Mihashi’s shoulder tight, then pulled him into the hall, towards the elevator and through the automatic doors. He didn’t let Mihashi go, instead tightened his grasp, wondering if it hurt but amazed, sort of, at the way he could feel each tremor of excitement in the bones beneath his hands in perfect time to the ones in his own skin.

The elevator ride was fifty centuries of agonized waiting, it felt like, until finally they were on the same floor as the Kwoon Combat Room and the Jaeger Simulator, walking down the hall. There were a few technicians standing inside, and Abe opened the door, peeking his head in.

“Would if be all right if we tried the simulator?” he asked, and none other than Hamada poked his head from where he’d been crawling under the desk for some reason, blond hair matted but face bright and excited.

“Oh, Abe, Mihashi! Yeah, sure, go on back and get changed, and we’ll fire the system up!” Hamada said, and with that, Abe shut the door, steering Mihashi into the locker room where he finally relented his tight hold to go to the locker with his name on it. The space below it was blank for their team name when they were officially recognized as Team Big Windup, and his skin buzzed with the excitement shimmering just beneath his skin. It matched in perfect coordination to the chills when he stripped off his shirt, folding it with a messy neatness that came only from habit. 

Before he could reach for his pants, however, there was a hovering presence at his side, and he looked to see Mihashi, hands raised at his chest level and his eyes focused on Abe’s. He’d just about forgotten, Abe thought, lifting his hand and watching as Mihashi reached out, pressing his palm against Abe’s and closing his eyes. Abe pulled out his phone and set the five minute timer, then followed Mihashi’s lead by letting his own eyes drift closed. Mihashi’s hand was cold against his own, he thought with a frown, concentrating on sending as much of the heat of his own hand across their palms, imagining Mihashi’s hand warming up against his own, imagining them both catching fire with all of the burning excitement heavy in his stomach. 

When the alarm went off five minutes later, Mihashi’s hand was still cooler than Abe’s, but it was much less the frigid contact it had been in the beginning. Locking gazes, Abe gave Mihashi a grin, then jerked his head in the direction of Mihashi’s locker. “Go get ready,” he said, hands reaching for his pants and stripping them off his legs as fast as he could unbutton them. He pulled them down as Mihashi went back over to his side of the locker room, noisily opening his door and changing. There was a sort of distant thought in Abe’s mind as he folded his pants with the same careless habit he had his shirt, that he should slow down, that there was no hurry and that he should take his time and breathe, but each pull of his lungs felt increasingly hollow until he was just short of panting in excitement, and something else that felt foreign, crawling in his gut. 

The electromyograph suit tugged into place, and he turned as he zipped it up, watching as Mihashi pulled the black fingers into place for his own, Abe came up behind him, helping tug the other sleeve into place, and then the blond pulled his zipper up to his chin, looking over his shoulder with rapidly blinking eyes that were almost golden with excitement. “You ready?” he asked, and Mihashi nodded, stepping away and into the hall that led to the armor technicians. 

They suited the two pilots up, Abe feeling each piece bolt into place with a familiarity that calmed him down. He closed his eyes, concentrating on his breathing as he felt the tug and pull of each part of his suit coming into place, knowing that at his side Mihashi was feeling the exact same thing on his body, concentrating on that feeling of unity and using it to bring himself closer into the moment when they would be of one body and one mind, the moment when they would Drift. 

Finally, Abe opened his eyes, his breathing back to normal and without the strange quickness it had had earlier. A technician handed him a helmet, and he pulled it over his head, feeling it click into place as it filled with the relay gel, then emptied. Finally, there was the tingle in his spine of the spinal clamp clicking into place, and he stepped forward, clicking into his shoes in almost perfect concert with Mihashi. Looking over, through the glare on the plastic, he saw the bright excitement that was mingled with the anxiety on Mihashi’s face, and somehow, this felt like this Drift was going to be different.

When they walked through out of the technician’s area and into the control room, Abe startled to see none other than Momoe standing there, arms folded as she turned at the sound of the opening door. “Hamada-kun called me and said you were Drifting, and since I was free, I thought I’d come watch,” she said, and Abe nodded, looking to Mihashi and clasping his shoulder under another tight grip.

“We’ve got a good feeling about this one,” Abe said, and Mihashi nodded rapidly next to him. Momoe hummed, pleased, then looked to the simulator. “Go on, Mihashi,” Abe said, giving him a small push, and the blond stepped forward into the mock pod. The doors shut behind them, and they fell into the familiar darkness of the pod, the lights monitoring the systems of a Jaeger that didn’t exist all around them. Mihashi stepped to the right side, clicking his shoes into place, and Abe followed suit on the left. The machinery came smoothly into place, securing them both into the system, and when Abe looked up, everything was green and ready to go. 

“Okay, you two, let’s make it happen,” Hamada’s voice said over the intercom, and Abe watched as Mihashi reached up and pressed the comm button.

“Ready for simulation,” he said, letting his arm come back down to his side as he took in a deep breath and then slowly let it out. Abe looked to the front, straightening his spine, and then he closed his eyes, letting Hamada’s voice fill his head as he emptied it of all other thoughts, just the countdown and the incoming presence of Mihashi’s mind against his own, hopefully more familiar and friendly than it had been before,  _three, two, one -_

A future planning sheet lied on an otherwise empty desk, and Abe feels the excruciatingly heavy press of a baseball in his right hand. It’s Mihashi’s third year of middle school, and the white paper is so blank, so empty before him, just like he was, ( _you dont exist you dont exist you dont exist_ ) and his pen wasn’t writing because it wouldn’t write baseball,  _couldn’t_  write baseball, and the sickening feeling smothers him until he can’t breathe, he’s sobbing, clutching the baseball to his chest as he tries to hide his face from the classmates that acknowledge him only to laugh because who just starts crying at their future sheet in middle school, dumb Ren, and the slow acceptance as he sobs and his chest tears open to spill the nothingness outside of him ( _you don’t exist you don’t exist you don’t existyoudon’texistyoudon’texist_ ) and wasn’t it fitting, that his future sheet was empty, wasn’t that how it should be, and a firm thought that after this, he wouldn’t play baseball ever again, and the agony the excruciating scream inside of wrong wrong wrong  _I want to pitch! I want to play baseball I want to pitch I want to be on the mound the only place I can exist I want I want I can’t_ , nails dragging on the wood of a desk as the screaming laughter gets louder and louder - 

And then Abe was falling out of the Drift, harder than he had with Haruna, harder than he had ever before, and his whole body surged with the kind of pain he hadn’t felt since half his body was burned by the electricity of failure, old scars searing to life on his skin. He stripped off his helmet and threw it to the side, scrambling out of the pod gear until he was able to get away from the thing causing him so much pain, except it hurt it  _hurt it hurt it hurt_  his whole body wracked with the pain that had him dizzy and falling to the floor. He felt the hardness beneath his body, felt the cold of the steel floor, felt the tearing of his brain as surely as he felt the hands gripping his shoulders. A voice ringing in his head, not the same dissociative voice but a familiar voice, Hamada, maybe. He blinked through the haze, tried to sit up but stopped when the motion had the nausea billowing in him like milk in water.

He looked over to the other side of the pod, and it was empty. Hamada followed his gaze, then sighed softly. “Mihashi ran off,” he said, and there was a gripping agony in Abe’s gut at the thought, followed by an incendiary fury, because damn it they were supposed to be working  _together_ , here, and he was working his ass off to make this work with someone who ran the moment they failed, and damn it couldn’t Mihashi see he was  _fine?!_  He sat up, battling the sickness that rose on the back of his throat like the foul curse he didn’t let slip, and he let his eyes lock with the sharp stare of Momoe’s, fingers gripping into hard fists against the floor. The sharpness that pierced his chest and let him bleed, finally, letting it all spill onto the floor so he could see just how useless this all was.

Abe licked his dry lips, then spoke. 

“Get me another partner.”

 


	10. wrinkle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [sweeps out the cinders from the last chapter out of my inbox where people set it on fire] well then.
> 
> edit: i!!! am horrified i forgot this but. eternal gratitude to knife (knifeofice) for listening to the medical shenanigans i wanted to go down and ensuring that i was as close to real-life medical correctness as possible
> 
> don't forget to check out the 8tracks [here](http://8tracks.com/blondnepeta/break-on-the-willow-shore)

_“Get me another partner.”_

Abe swallowed after the heavy words that had came out of his mouth, fists pushing hard into the floor on either side of his hips as he choked back the second wave of nausea. He could feel Hamada’s fingers digging painfully into his shoulders, saw the aghast paleness of the blond’s expression in the corner of his eyes, but Abe maintained his stare with Marshal Momoe. Her cinnamon eyes pierced hard into his own, her face bafflingly neutral of anything save for a small frown as her arms slowly slid into one another, folding tightly beneath her breasts.

“Marshal, you can’t seriously - !” Hamada said, and Abe saw the jerk of the chief LOCCENT officer’s head towards Momoe in his peripheral vision, felt the way Hamada’s shaking fingers bruised the skin beneath them. “Mihashi’s trying his best - “

“There’s a city of over seven million people on the other side of the miracle mile every time we go out there. You saw how close the last fight was with Blue Sprinter and we  _need_  another Jaeger - ” Abe interrupted in a low voice, feeling his jaw tighten and his chest burn with anger as he looked over when Hamada’s hands clenched in the electromyograph suit near his throat. Then Hamada was pulling, hauling him close, and the sudden motion caused a swirl of vertigo to twist Abe’s face into a grimace. Hamada’s harsh tone didn’t help the thundering pain between his temples.

“Yeah, which is why we don’t have  _time_  for you to find someone else! You already tried, right? You can’t Drift with anyone except Mihashi, you could just go talk to Oki about it and - "

“That's enough,” Momoe cut in, thoughtful finger tapping against her bicep. Both Abe and Hamada looked over, though she was looking at Abe with a calculating expression that was carefully undecipherable. “We’re not discussing this right now. Abe-kun, you’re going to the medical room. Now.” Abe looked back to Hamada, whose fingers in Abe’s electromyograph suit tightened. “Hamada-kun.”

“Yes, Marshal,” Hamada said, voice just defiant enough so that he could get away with the tone with little more than a reprimanding glance, but when he gripped Abe to pull him to his feet, Abe once again felt the vertigo from before, arms failing around and gripping whatever he could to stay upright as his feet didn’t quite move correctly. He opened his eyes when his head stopped spinning, finding himself leaning against the wall as Hamada gripped his bicep to keep him upright, the walls and floors around him  still woozy despite the fact that he wasn’t moving anymore. “Hey man, you all right?”

“He’s going to the medical bay,” Momoe said again, frown pulling even deeper in her face as Abe saw her intense stare move from him to Hamada. “You saw how hard he fell out. I want him checked out.” 

“Right,” Hamada agreed, hauling Abe’s arm over his shoulders and using himself as a crutch. It was a little humiliating, Abe thought, having to be escorted like this, but with the way his feet weren’t quite following what his brain was telling them to do and how the hallway was spinning even when Hamada had him stopping at the door for a breather, he knew she was right. He’d fallen out of the Drift hard, hard enough for it to burn, hard enough for his head to throb like he’d been punched in the face with a Jumphawk. 

By the time they were in the elevator, Abe was able to coordinate his movements a little bit better, though he still had to lean heavily against Hamada’s larger frame to stay upright. As soon as the doors were shut, the blond looked down at him, face stiff with what was very obviously anger. “Why did you say that about Mihashi? You know better than anyone he’s trying his best to be a pilot.”

“You heard me,” Abe said, looking to the glowing ring around the button for the floor they were heading to. “This isn’t a game. Millions of lives are on the line, and it’s our job to do what it takes to protect ourselves and them.”

“No one knows that better than Mihashi does!” Hamada snapped, causing Abe to cringe because of the idiot’s proximity to his ear and the fact that his head was already aching. “ _No_   _one_  works harder than Mihashi does,” Hamada said more softly, his voice trailing off as he stared at the number panel with Abe. “If you weren’t hurt, I’d definitely punch you.”

“Good thing I’m not here to make friends,” Abe retorted sharply, feeling distinctly fatigued by the conversation and silently pleading for the elevator to move faster. The elevator fell silent after that, the only sound that of muffled elevator machinery pulling them further, Hamada’s uneven breathing, and then the rush of air when the door opened. Hamada led them down the hall, and the door where he stopped to try and juggle Abe while gripping the door handle was blessedly close. Abe gripped his fingers tightly in Hamada’s shirt as he moved his arm and sat in the chair by the door. A nurse came out, a frown pulling on her face when she saw Hamada, and when she looked to Abe and saw the electromyograph suit, her frown got even deeper.

“He fell out of Drift and the Marshal wants him checked out,” Hamada said, and the nurse hefted out a great sigh while pushing up her glasses with a short-tempered gesture, grabbing a tablet. Hamada leaned in, hands on his hips. “Abe Takaya. He just transferred over from Musashino.”

“Okay, got it,” the nurse said, and Hamada left without a second look at Abe. He stared at the broad back as it slipped out the door, then looked to the nurse (Ochi, her nametag read), who was swiping her fingers around on the tablet before she tucked it in a large pocket on her side. “All right, Abe-san, come on back. Can you walk on your own?”

“Mostly,” Abe said, taking the extended hand shakily as he made his way to the examination room. The nurse deposited him on the table, taking his temperature and blood pressure and pulse rate, then left him alone with the promise that Dr. Yuuri would come in soon. Abe exhaled and closed his eyes, nose wrinkling a bit at the comfortably sterile smell of the room and the crinkle of the paper beneath his hips. 

It was hours of tests and scans that showed a concussion, rendered by a blow delivered to the back of his head when he’d crashed into the rig upon convulsing out of the Drift. A concussion, meaning twenty four hours of monitoring in the medical ward, and it was when Abe was sitting in a chair opposite Dr. Yuuri, hands tight on his knees, that she delivered the truly fatal blow.

“A week?!” a repeated, horror dropping his stomach to his numb toes. She nodded, Ochi typing rapidly on the tablet beside her as her face stretched into a sympathetic smile.

“Seven days, no activity. I know it’ll be tough, but it’s very important with injuries like this that you take care of them well. And I know how you Jaeger pilots are. Non-stimulation and bed rest means no television, no reading complicated things, and  _absolutely_  no Drifting. We’ll keep you for the first twenty four hours to make sure that nothing more serious happens.” She extended her hand to take the tablet out of Ochi’s hands, flipping through it a bit herself and nodding as she read the final report and then met Abe’s doomed gaze. “Don’t look so down, Abe-kun. One week of rest will do you good. It wasn’t too serious, thankfully, but we’ll need to tend to it carefully. Now, lie down over here and get some rest, and we’ll wake you up every couple of hours to make sure that everything’s okay.”

Abe nodded slowly, then stood, following Ochi to a room that had four beds in it and sitting on the side. He heard the door click shut behind him as Ochi’s voice disappeared down the hall sweetly calling for Dr. Yuuri, and the sound felt like the final chord on a song whose lyrics he didn’t know. His eyes fell to the floor between his feet, staring at the speckled off-white tile but not seeing the pattern. A slow rage billowed in his gut, choking him as his hands fisted tightly, body quivering all over. His vision blurred, and he pressed his palm hard against his forehead, the effort of keeping in the clawing screams in his lungs and not letting them past his throat causing his headache to get worse. With a bite of breath that sounded like a sob to his ears, he lied down on the bed, not caring that he was still dressed in his armor or that the suit was uncomfortable for sleeping. He clutched the pillow to his face, fingers tight in the soft cotton beneath them.

True to her word, Dr. Yuuri came in and woke him up after a few hours, asking him a few questions and then leaving him to fall back asleep, eyes wide in a dark room that felt like a maw of hell digging its teeth into his flesh. He rolled over when the hollowness became painful, crushing his pillow over his head so the silence wouldn’t be so loud. Ochi came on the second rotation, glasses glinting in the light from the hallway and burning his eyes, but once she was satisfied with his condition and left, he found himself wishing for the ache to remain if only to fill the gaping hole in his chest.

When Dr. Yuuri finally came in after countless times of prodding him awake with soft, feminine hands and told him he was fine to go, Abe took the piece of paper she handed him, eyes taking in the prescription of ‘bed rest’ with a foul glower that had her giving him a knowing look. He let with a simple thank you, emerging out into the hallway and walking robotically to the elevator. His thumb jabbed the button for the elevator to come, tension pulling at his cramped muscles from being in the electromyograph suit for so long and from the screeching stiffness of his frustration.

When the doors finally slid open, Abe stepped on, pushing the number for the floor room. He closed his eyes, forcibly relaxing his spine from the steel rod it was, just a bit, just enough so that his shoulders lowered from where they’d been clenched up near his ears. Inhaling deeply, he held the breath inside his chest, let his ribs expand with the pressure of the air swirling inside, then exhaled slowly, a bit of the tension slipping out with the carbon dioxide. He repeated the motion until the elevator door slid open, and he walked over to the locker room, eyes focused on the ground despite the few footsteps he could hear around him.

He passed the locker room and went straight into the technicians’ room, where they removed the armor with fewer questions to his condition than he’d expected. Standing only in his electromyograph suit, he returned to the locker room to get back into his clothes. He approached his locker, eyes falling to his name and the blank space beneath it. His hand raised and he traced his fingers over it, remembering the excitement that had brewed beneath his skin but a day previous with a bitter taste rising on the back of his tongue. His fingers curled into a fist against the cold metal, head bowing and teeth bearing in a snarl as he felt himself start to shake with a frustration that stretched every cell in his body thin. He banged his fist against the door, the noise loud and screaming in his ears and unsatisfying. Pain blossomed in his hand, and there was a split second where he didn’t care before he slowly uncurled his fingers, pressing his palm against his locker, and then slowly, he lowered himself to the ground, knees hitting the tile as his forehead came forward and rested lightly on the cold metal. The quiet sobs shook his shoulders, and he felt the soft wail crawl out of his throat. Jerkily, he reached up to the zipper of his electromyograph suit, pulling it down half-heartedly with one hand, until he pushed himself back off the locker, spine straightening as he wrestled his arms out of the fabric. He stood shakily, tearing his body out and standing still, letting his head fall back as he sniffed once, hard, then rubbed his face clean of tears. 

Abe exhaled sharply, grabbing the electromyograph suit he’d wadded up in his frustration and plucking it back into place with careful fingers. Once everything was situated again, he put it on its hanger, then pulled on first his shirt, then his pants, eyes watching his hands as he tucked in the grey cotton and twisted the button into place. He pulled on his socks, and then his boots, propping up first one foot then the other on the bench in the middle of the room as he laced them up perfectly, each movement part of a routine that kept him from tearing the doors off all the lockers around him. As soon as he was dressed, he closed the locker, leaving the room and stepping back out into the hallway.

The elevator had two people already on it when the door slid open, but he ignored them and their chatter as he leaned over and pressed the button for his floor. He looked at the reflective doors into his reflection, barely holding back a grimace at the state of himself. His hair was a mess and he really needed to shave, let alone the shower that was definitely calling his name as soon as he got back to their room.

… _Their_  room, he mentally repeated, eyes rising to the changing red numbers above the elevator door. He watched them pass, then stepped off when the doors opened on their floor.  _Their_  floor. When he got to the door to their room, he dug the keys out of his pocket and unlocked it, swinging it open with the familiar screech. He stepped inside, just in time to see Mihashi rocket up from where he’d been sitting at their small dining table, facing the door and face pale as a sheet as the chair scraped noisily against the floor.

“A-A-Abe…. kun,” he stuttered, horrified, hands clutched at his chest and gripping themselves tightly as they worried about. Abe stared at him for a second, then exhaled a small breath, shutting the door behind him and taking his shoes off. He deposited his keys in the little bowl Mihashi had put on the table by the door, then walked up to the table, pulling the second chair out and sitting down. He sat for a moment in the stillness of the room, collecting his breath in his lungs and his thoughts in his head, then opened his eyes and saw that Mihashi was staring at him, eyes wide with fear. 

“Sit down, Mihashi,” Abe said, voice soft, and the blond hesitated for just a moment before doing as Abe told him. His spine was stiff and his shoulders hunched up near his ears, but his eyes were locked with Abe’s despite the fact that he was shaking with anxiety. Abe stared back, tapping a finger on the table before he sighed out. “You know, when they first started making the Jaeger prototypes, they did it with just one pilot. Didn’t work. The neural load was too great and people died.”

“Y-yes, I know,” Mihashi responded, shoulders hunching up even more and eyes dropping down to the table. “Th…. That’s why…two…”

Abe hummed an affirmative sound in his throat. There was a thick and awkward silence that was loud with the noise of the hallway outside and the faint hum of the light over their heads that Abe had never really noticed before. He ran his finger over the top of the table, finding a slight scratch and tracing the length of it. 

“H-Hama-chan said you were… What… What did the doctor say?” Mihashi asked in a tiny voice. Abe exhaled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the prescription Dr. Yuuri had given him. He unfolded it, pressing out the creases from his pockets as he looked at her pretty handwriting that was unlike the messy scrawl he’d seen on Ochi’s notes. He stared at it for a second, wondering what else Hamada had told Mihashi about yesterday.

“Concussion,” Abe responded simply, putting the piece of paper down on the table and flattening it with his palm. “When I fell out of the Drift, I seized and it caused me to hit my head on the rig, she thinks. That, plus the neural load, means that I’m out of commission for a week. I’m not allowed to do anything.” He stared down at the paper, then looked up to Mihashi, whose eyes dropped away from his the moment they met. Abe sighed, picking up the prescription and tapping it on the surface of the table. 

“Mihashi - “ “A-Abe-kun - “

Abe looked up when they’d talked at the same time, watching as the moment of bravery died off Mihashi’s face and he fell back into the withdrawn shell. Abe waited for a few moments, but when the blond didn’t do anything but shift in his chair uneasily, he put the paper down on the table and lifted the hand to rub his forehead. “Mihashi, I… This… isn’t working,” he said carefully, staring at the blond’s expression pale and pull into something close to sickened pain. “I know you’re trying hard, I’ve seen how much you want to be a pilot, but… We need to get in a Jaeger  _together_ , Mihashi. You saw the last fight with Blue Sprinter on the news same as I did. Tajima and Hanai barely managed to hold it off, and the next time a Kaiju comes to Saitama, I don’t doubt they’ll put Big Windup out there too. And  _this_ ,” Abe made a gesture between him and Mihashi, “is not going to work in a Jaeger.” His hand fisted on his head, fingers pulling the strands of hair as he watched Mihashi bite his lower lip in an attempt to fight back tears. “You can’t run away when things get hard, Mihashi. It’ll get you killed. It’ll get us  _both_  killed. It’ll get Tajima and Hanai killed. All those people,” Abe gestured over towards the wall with a broad sweep of his arm, “everyone in Saitama is counting on us. It’s our  _job_  to protect them.”

“H-Hama-chan said… you told Marshal…” Mihashi said, quivering visible from where he was sitting across the table. Mihashi took in a breath and held it in, eyes welling up and face turning red. “T-told Marshal that you wanted… someone else.” Mihashi’s head bowed forward, a few heavy drops falling from his eyes to where his hands were probably clenched hard on his thighs, knowing him. “I d-didn’t w… want to…. believe him, and I y- _yelled_  at him, and…” Mihashi brought up his arm, rubbing furiously at his eyes as his shoulders shook with sobs. “I t- _told_  you I can’t Drift… with  _anyone_!” 

“Mihashi, that’s  _not_  true,” Abe retorted, sitting up and leaning on the table to get closer to the blond. “It’s not…” He gritted his teeth, feeling the frustration rise in his throat like bile. “It’s not that you can’t Drift, it’s just that…! Pilots have to calibrate their Jaeger together and then get in the Jaeger Simulator for  _weeks_ , even  _months_ before getting out into a fight, and that’s even if you have someone you can Drift  _well_  with, let alone…  _whatever_  the hell this is that we’re doing. If we had more time, or if, if we could just…” 

“I’m… s-sorry,” Mihashi hiccuped, hands reaching up to press hard against his eyes. “I’m… no good, and I  _knew_  it, and I still…just wasted…” Abe felt the frustration boil into fury, and he reached over and snatched one of Mihashi’s hands in his own, clutching it in what was no doubt a painful grip.

“ _Don’t_ …!” Abe snarled, glaring hard into Mihashi’s shimmering eyes where they met his pitifully, “ _don’t_  you invalidate what we’ve done! I didn’t say  _anything_  about regretting what we’ve been through! Don’t put words in my mouth!” He released Mihashi’s hand, letting it flop down to the table where Mihashi stared at him wretchedly, eyes puffy and red and face splotchy. “Yeah, okay, I’m  _really_  pissed you ran off, that was the  _worst_  thing you could have done in that situation, and yeah, I was expecting that we’d be able to Drift by now, and instead all we have is this bullshit where I’m dropped right into your shitty past. But this isn’t about you, Mihashi! It’s about  _us_  needing to do our job as Rangers.” He felt his chest swell, and he dropped his eyes down to the table as he gripped his hands into tight fists. “I  _want_  to make this work. I want  _you_  to be my copilot, Mihashi. But I can’t think about what  _I_ want.” Looking back up to Mihashi’s face in time to see the red-faced shock, Abe hissed out the breath that had lingered too long inside. “We have to think about what Saitama needs, what the  _world_  needs. This war is bigger than what  _we_  want, and it needs people who can pilot Big Windup together. Sooner, rather than later.” 

The room fell quiet again, save for the lingering hiccups each time Mihashi shuddered violently in his chair, and Abe stared at his face before looking down to his hands. Just when he was about to push off the table and announce that he was going to lie down, however, there was a choked noise from Mihashi, and looking at him showed the blond glaring down at his lap. 

“A-Abe-kun can’t… look for another pilot right now, anyway! Not for… a week!” Mihashi croaked, and Abe stared, gut churning with the scandalized shock that Mihashi would say something like that. Not that it wasn’t true, but for  _Mihashi_  to point it out… “S-So…!” Golden eyes met Abe’s, pinning him to his chair, and Abe’s stomach fell to his feet with the sheer  _want_  for  _that_  gaze to be the one peering into his brain,  _those_  golden eyes that had that way of making absolutely everything else meaningless when they looked at him like that. The gaze that he’d first seen from eighteen and a half meters away, and then on the other end of a pole in the Kwoon Combat Room, and again now, with lips that pressed together until they were pale. “S-So… One week, I…” Mihashi worked his tongue around the words in his mouth, then scrunched up his face as he spat them out. “If I can beat Abe-kun, Academy-style, then…! Then you can’t… You can’t get anybody else! You can’t… give up on me!” 

He was absolutely stunned. Completely incapable of movement or thought, eyes wide as he stared at the pitifully earnest look on Mihashi’s face, the lingering tears collecting on his eyelashes, his scrunched up nose and the screwed up frown on his face, and Abe heard himself snort, felt the bizarre tickle in his chest, and then he was laughing, hand covering his mouth as his whole body rocked with his heaving shoulders. He straightened after a few seconds, wiping under his eyes and then looking across the table to where Mihashi looked about as lost as Abe himself felt, at least until he reached across the table, grabbing the hand that Mihashi had left there, pressing his palm against Mihashi’s and staring at all the places where their skin met. 

It was a bitter kind of hope, he mused, thinking of their past escapades in the Kwoon Combat Room. Yes, Mihashi had proven himself more than capable of putting Abe down to the floor when they were testing each other for the Drift Compatibility, but in an Academy-style fight? A test of domination? His eyes trailed over Mihashi’s thin frame, the muscles that were definitely there but not as large and powerful as his own, and remembered the way that he’d always had to look down at Mihashi, not a lot, but just enough to make a difference in a brawl. But then he also remembered the way Mihashi stared at him from across the mat, eyes filled with the gold of first place. 

“Okay,” Abe answered softly, gripping Mihashi’s hand tightly as if that was enough to selfishly keep him close. He squeezed it once, then pushed back from the table, standing and walking over to his bed as he pulled his shirt over his shoulder. “Until then, I’m stuck in bed, so you’ll have to take care of me, right?”

“R-right,” Mihashi responded softly, and when Abe looked at him, he saw that Mihashi wasn’t looking at him, just staring down at the table with an unreadable expression on his face. He felt the frown pull at his mouth, tasted the concoction of emotions bubbling inside of him so complex he couldn’t make out individual flavors any more but he ignored all of that for now. His head was hurting, and his bed looked better than ever. He collapsed on the cranky springs, taking his pillow and clutching it tightly to his chest, rolling so that he was facing the wall and his back was to the room and its other occupant. And when the lights went off in the room and their bed shook a little as Mihashi climbed up into his bunk as well, Abe pretended not to notice for sleep, not even when he could hear the soft sobs Mihashi so desperately tried to smother into his pillow.

\----------

The next morning, Abe woke to the increasingly familiar sound of Mihashi making breakfast. He lingered beneath the blanket dropped over his shoulders, coiled in a cocoon of warmth, before scowling and taking the soft fabric in his hand. He hadn’t fallen asleep under a blanket, he thought, turning over to watch Mihashi’s back muscles  coil and pull beneath the thin cotton shirt as he worked over the stove. Mihashi picked up the pan and tilted whatever was inside it onto a plate, arranging it with a fork and then putting it on the table where Abe usually sat. His face was pale and he had dark circles under his eyes, and Abe swallowed past the shitty guilt that threatened to choke him, knowing it was his fault Mihashi looked like walking death, but also knowing that he’d made the right choice.

Just when Abe was about to push back the blanket that Mihashi had no doubt put on him (taking his role of caretaker seriously, as he did every role Abe had ever forced him into), he stopped, because Mihashi grabbed a notepad and a pen and started writing something. Leaving a note for him before he disappeared to go do something, then, Abe thought, hesitating and waiting so that Mihashi didn’t feel embarrassed when he had to stop writing the note mid-way. It was kind of endearing, even, the way Mihashi stared down at the paper and wrote much more than Abe himself ever would have, pen twirling and dancing about before it stopped suddenly. Mihashi stared down at the paper, eyes wide, lips pressing hard together, and then he ripped off the paper, crushing it into a ball. He wrote a second note, one that was much shorter, and positioned it next to the plate. Then, the blond grabbed his keys out of the bowl by the door, and on his way out, tossed the balled up piece of paper in the garbage. 

As soon as the door squealed open and then shut firmly, Abe waited for ten seconds before sitting up carefully. When Mihashi still didn’t return, he sighed, turning his legs and standing up slowly, making sure nothing was wrong with his body. He felt fine, and so he padded over to the table, eyes taking in the delicious-looking omelet filled with peppers, onions, ham, and what looked like that last bit of gouda cheese they’d had, arranged prettily on the plate and folded perfectly. Abe then looked to the notepad, and Mihashi’s handwriting that was just short of a messy scrawl:  _Here’s your breakfast. I’ll be back later. - Mihashi_

Abe walked over to their kitchen area and reached down into the fridge to grab the jug of orange juice. They were a bit low, he thought, pouring it into a glass that he retrieved from the cabinet above. The thought crossed his mind that they needed to go grocery shopping soon, but he squashed it out, knowing that the moment Mihashi left this room was the moment he didn’t need groceries anymore. 

He sat down at the table once he had his orange juice and picked at the omelet to get a bite on his fork, then stuck it in his mouth. It was as good as ever, he thought, staring down at his plate while he chewed thoughtfully, wondered when Mihashi had the time to learn how to cook like this. He’d been playing baseball in middle school and high school, after all, and in basic training they didn’t have access to kitchens like this, nor did it seem really likely that he would have braved the communal kitchen the Ranger Cadets shared between ten or twenty people. But he’d definitely learned somewhere, and Abe ate down to the last bite. 

When he was through, he sat at the table, sipping on the orange juice and letting the freshness linger on his palate before it died into the bitter aftertaste that felt appropriate, somehow. He closed his eyes, listening to the ambient noises of the room that filled his ears. The light above them really should probably be changed, he thought, listening to the barely-noticeable buzz above his head. The water rushed through the pipes, probably someone above him flushing a toilet or taking a shower, and the hallway was quiet, only carrying the lingering noises from further in the base as people slowly woke up for the day shift or went to sleep from the night shift. The stove suddenly made a popping noise as the burner light turned off, signaling that the stovetop was no longer hot and was safe to touch. The sink was silent, no dripping at all, and the television was better suited to be a mirror for now, his phone quiet and still where it rested in his pocket. 

With a sigh, Abe stood from the table, his legs pushing the chair back as they straightened, and he gathered his utensils to put them on his plate, then took them and his cup over to the sink. He turned the water as hot as it would go, washing the plate clean of the lingering bits of egg and vegetables, putting it to the side for him to dry in a moment. The utensils followed, and he rinsed out his cup, figuring he’d probably use it later to get some water. He’d need to make sure to stay hydrated, and he probably wasn’t allowed to leave the room, either. His prescription for bed rest lingered in the back of his mind, written on the crumpled paper, and - 

Oh, Abe thought, hands stilling from where he had reached for a dry cloth to take care of the wet dishes. He looked over his shoulder, slowly, as if moving too quickly would cause the trash can by the door to run away, and stared at it. There wasn’t much in it, not like there would be once he and Mihashi - or, well, his copilot, whoever that person ended up being - went over their past Kaiju battles and simulations for hours at a time, planning, perfecting strategies. No, today, it was all but empty, save for a gum wrapper, a plastic bottle from one of the vending machines that was closer to Hanai and Tajima’s room than their own, and a wadded up ball of paper. Abe jerked his attention away, back to the dishes, drying them steadily, holding them tightly. It wouldn’t be good if he dropped them, he thought. Very bad. It would worry Mihashi if he found out that Abe was doing something stupid like dropping plates. The idiot would probably send him back to the doctor, after worrying himself up that Abe’s brain was probably exploding in his head or something. 

He was strong until he got to the fork, which was the unfortunate victim of his snapped self control. He slapped it down on the counter, then turned on his heel to go over to the garbage can. Pushing the bottle of pocari to the side, he reached in, grabbing the ball of paper Mihashi had tossed before leaving and held it in the palm of his hand. He stared down at it, wondering if he was really just overreacting by feeling like he was betraying Mihashi’s trust, somehow, reading this discarded version of his note. He brought it over to the couch, staring at it in his hands, running his thumbs over the hard ridges as he battled past the uncomfortable squeezing in his stomach. Then, mad that he was even  _thinking_  about reading a note Mihashi had thrown away, he tossed it back into the garbage, glaring at it when it bounced off the rim and rolled onto the floor. He turned back to the television, staring at the reflected room in the flat screen, rubbing his hands over his face as he reclined his head back and groaned into his palms. Six more days of this, of doing nothing, not watching the news, not reading the Big Windup blueprints, not running, nothing. Just resting, if this tumultuous storm inside of him could be called anything  _close_  to resting.

Annoyed with how noisy his head was getting, Abe stood from the couch, walking over to his bed and lying on it once again. He stuck his feet under the blanket Mihashi had draped over him in the night, if only because it felt a little bit like he was still letting the blond take care of him even while he was gone, and because it would probably make him happy when he got back to see that Abe had eaten a good meal and then crawled back into bed for sleeping. And then, that was the thought that had Abe thinking about the note again, because Mihashi would  _definitely_  notice that the balled up piece of paper wasn’t in the trashcan where he’d left it, and what if he’d written something really, truly awful and thought Abe had read it and gotten mad? He was skittish enough already, and the last thing Abe needed was Mihashi thinking he was angry when he wasn’t. So, with a huff, Abe stood back out of bed, walking over to the piece of paper where it had rolled across the floor. It was heavy in his hands, this weight of unspoken words to him, and he held it over the trashcan with two fingers, then slowly brought it back. With hands that were more shaky that he could bother admitting, even to himself, he slowly peeled apart the paper, staring at the ink that was a little smudged because it had been crumpled while still wet. 

_Abe-kun, good morning. I made you breakfast. I didn’t want you to get cold last night so I put a blanket on you. Sorry if that made you mad. I hope you’re feeling all right. I’m going to go work out with Tajima so I can work hard to be your pa_

Abe stared down at the note, reading it once, twice, three times, and he walked back to his bed, taking the note with him, lying down and holding the paper above him as he read it again, then again, each messy scribble where Mihashi had probably been trying to write quickly before Abe woke up, or maybe he’d been a little late meeting Tajima for an appointed work out time, or maybe he was nervous putting all this on paper and that’s why he’d stopped and written something simpler. Something safer. Something more distant. Abe put his forearm over his eyes, closing them and inhaling deeply, then exhaling, feeling the quake in his lungs. Then, he folded the note carefully and reached over to where his wallet rested by his phone on the drawers he used as his bedside table, and with one last hiccup of hesitation, he slipped the note inside, then folded his wallet shut and stared at the worn leather. It felt warmer in his hands, somehow, and after he replaced it to its location next to his phone, he reached down and pulled the blanket up to his shoulders instead.

 


	11. prelude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it feels fitting that this be the last thing i post of 2k14. not my best year by far, but definitely improved by the addition of oofuri and everything and everyone that came into my life because of it. thank you all for being incredible, and let's go into 2k15 with bright smiles!!
> 
> thank you all for such amazing support!! you'll never know how much it means to me = v=!!

  
Izumi Kousuke had a long history of patience, but _this_ was ridiculous.

“Who the hell broke the coffee machine?” he asked the empty break room, blinking blearily down at the machine that seemed to look back up at him as if to shrug. He didn’t blame the poor thing for doing anything wrong, definitely not. It wasn’t _its_ fault someone irresponsible had mistreated it or harmed it in some way. He looked over it, palm tracing over the black plastic shell searching for signs of being dropped. When he didn’t find anything, he pressed the power button experimentally again. Still nothing.

After a small sigh and grumbled swear, he unplugged the machine, carrying it over to the table in the middle of the break room for examination. Setting it down on its front, Izumi peered down at the screws holding the thing together, then put his empty coffee mug down next to it and exited out to step into the holding bay. It was slightly colder out here than it was closer to the hum of machinery of the Jaegers and in the closed quarters of the break room due to the less-than-perfectly sealed bay doors, almost enough so for him to pull up the top of his mechanic suit where he’d unzipped it to his waist and left it tied around his middle. Almost cold enough, but not quite worth the effort, so he just slipped his hands in his pockets as he crossed the floor, expertly weaving around people and the forklifts driving as he made his way towards the alcove next to Big Windup and, ultimately, his tool cart, the top drawer where that tiny tool kit was for the detail wire work. He’d need the phillips head, and maybe the electrical tape, or perhaps -

“Oh, Izumi, can you come here for a sec?” a voice called, jerking him out of his thoughts, and Izumi looked over to see Sakaeguchi waving him over, Hanai standing next to him. Suppressing the slight groan at the thought that he was going to be expected to interact with people before his first cup of coffee in the morning (well, his body told him it was lunch time already), he turned away from his original path and instead came to the little party that was apparently being held at Big Windup’s left foot.

“What’s up?” he asked the ginger before looking over to Hanai. “Yo. How’s your back doing?”

“Morning. And yeah, better, thanks,” Hanai responded. “Have you seen Suyama around?”

Izumi rubbed a hand on the back of his neck as he rolled it around and felt the tender muscles pull beneath his skin. He really needed to get over to the PX and get a better pillow. “Nah, I just woke up from a nap. Still getting used to this time zone. I never was too good at that.” He exhaled, putting his hand on his hip. “He’s not in the break room, though. By the way, Sakaeguchi, do you know what happened to the coffee machine?”

Sakaeguchi shook his head. “No, I only drink tea, sorry!” The ginger then looked to Hanai, head tilting as he crossed his arms. “Shouji’s probably out for a run or something. What do you need him for, anyway? I didn’t hear anything from Momokan.”

“Ah, well, it’s… it’s nothing official yet,” Hanai said in a hesitant tone, and Izumi watched as the Jaeger pilot grew visibly uncomfortable with his and Sakaeguchi’s interest. He felt his eyebrow raise as Hanai’s hand reached up to rub the back of his head. “That’s kinda why I wanted to talk to him before it got out.”

“You Jaeger pilots and your drama,” Izumi huffed out when he realized that not only was Hanai probably not going to talk about it, but it seemed like the kind of thing he’d hear about eventually. He looked over to Sakaeguchi instead. “If that’s all, I’m gonna go fix the coffee machine and get to work. You wanna grab lunch later?”

“Yeah, sure!” Sakaeguchi said pleasantly, looking back to Hanai with an expression that almost looked a little strained. Izumi turned on his heel smoothly and returned to making his way to his tool cart, tongue running heavily over the roof of his mouth in the desire for caffeine. He did, however, give himself one last glance over his shoulder, the curiosity just enough to prompt him into it, and when he saw how amicably Sakaeguchi and Hanai were talking, he turned back. He slipped his thumbs into where his mechanic suit sleeves were tied around his hips, and rolled his shoulder in a lazy shrug. He’d probably just imagined it, and even if he hadn’t, it wasn’t his business as long as whatever Jaeger drama didn’t mess with his baby.

“I’ll be back, sweetheart,” Izumi said, reaching over and patting his palm on the cold metal of Big Windup’s right foot once he found the tiny toolkit he needed. “We’ll both be in a better mood once I get some coffee.”

\----------

Abe spent the rest of the morning sleeping, mostly out of boredom than feeling any actual need for the rest itself. He dozed, in and out of naps, occasionally getting up for a drink of water or to go to the bathroom, until he woke to the sound of a key prodding at their door. As he sat up, Mihashi fumbled to get in, a tray of food in his hands as he struggled to step inside without spilling anything.

“N-no, you stay,” Mihashi chastised when he made to get out of bed to help, and Abe did exactly that, staring at the blond’s frowning face with a touch of shock still buzzing in his fingers from the sharp tone in his voice. Instead, he snuck a glance down to the screen of his phone, which indeed confirmed that he’d managed to sleep away the morning and it was finally time for lunch.

Mihashi kicked the door shut behind him, putting the tray down on their table with a slight clack and an a soft noise of irritation. He then looked up slowly to where Abe had remained still, hand clutching his blanket and one leg out from where he’d almost stood up. The blond exhaled, eyes falling from Abe’s sock-covered foot back down to the table as his fingers tangled in knots at his chest. “I brought you some lunch,” he mumbled, stepping back as Abe finally finished swinging his feet from under the blanket and put them on the ground.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Abe asked when he realized Mihashi was inching towards the door, watching as Mihashi’s spine stiffened. When he responded, his voice was quiet and broken and barely understandable.

“I, I, uh, I already have… with Tajima-kun, I’m going to…”

“Oh.” Abe’s own response was flat even to his own ears, which was _irritating_ , leaving him to stand and walk over to their table as the awkwardness twisted like squirmy snakes in his stomach with each step closer. Mihashi pursed his lips together tightly, hands gripping in his shirt before he turned so fast, his dog tags clinked noisily with the motion. Mihashi looked back at him when he had the door open, eyes staring hard at Abe’s chest as his fingers gripped the metal so hard they went pale.

“I’ll… bring you dinner, too, so…” Mihashi said, gaze dropping to the floor, and before Abe could nod or say yes or kiss my ass, Mihashi slipped through the doorway and had it clanging shut noisily behind him. Abe sighed, sitting down at his plate, taking the plastic fork and removing it from its little bag with more force than was really necessary. He picked at the food on the tray and took small nibbles, not hungry but knowing that he should eat a lot and sleep a lot to get better. When he was finished, he put the garbage in the trashcan, leaving the tray since Mihashi would definitely know what to do with it better than he did.

The afternoon was spent exactly like the morning, alternating between dozing off and lying in bed, staring at the coils of the bunk above him. He reached up and curled his fingers in the cold metal curls, feeling the blood slowly drain out of his arm until he let it fall heavily back down to his side. He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply, bringing his hands to his face and rubbing hard, staring at the door and ears pricked for each sound of passing footsteps, annoyed at the tug of excitement when one would get close and he held his breath for the sound of Mihashi opening their door. Finally, he groaned, rolling back over and smothering his face into his pillow.

When Mihashi finally _did_ come back to their room, hours later and just as the pangs of hunger started to grip Abe’s gut, the blond was sweaty and flushed, hands holding a tray with what Abe was assumed was his dinner. One tray. Not two. Abe looked at Mihashi’s face while the blond put the food down on the table, then glanced to Abe’s shoes. “Um, dinner, your dinner is - ”

“Are you going to eat with Tajima again?” Abe asked, running a hand through his hair when he heard the irritation in his own voice. Mihashi jumped, then gripped the bottom of his shirt where it was tucked into his pants, thumb running over cotton that looked like it had been wet and had since dried. He then reached over to grab the tray from lunch, holding it to his chest defensively.

“Oh, um, yeah, I was going to…” Abe fought to keep the bitterness he tasted on the back of his throat off his face, but he must have failed, because the moment he stood from his bed and started towards their table, Mihashi still stepped back, but after a breath, he continued speaking. “Um…! If, if Abe-kun is lonely, I can…”

Lonely? Abe looked up at Mihashi’s face where it was staring steadily down to the floor, then back down to his dinner, pushing the salad around as he weighed the word in his head. It felt petty and unfair, because it had been _his_ call that they break up their partnership, after all. For him to then turn around and ask Mihashi to stay in their room while he ate, to eat _with_ him because - because what? Because he couldn’t stand the silence anymore? Because of some kind of twisted need to make Mihashi cheer up after he’d been the one to step all over him?

“You do whatever makes you happy, Mihashi,” Abe said, taking a bite of his salad before he said anything else. He looked up at the blond after a few heartbeats, waiting, and he saw Mihashi staring at their table with an unreadable expression. Abe stabbed a few leaves of his salad and put it in his mouth with a chomp, irritation brewing in his gut that he didn’t know Mihashi well enough by now to know what that face meant, let alone how to talk to it. Maybe it was best that they weren’t going to be pilots together after all, he mused, though his nagging suspicion that Momoe was going to put him with Tajima was even _less_ appealing.

Before he could say anything else on the matter or really decide what he wanted to hear in response, Mihashi mumbled something about taking care of the tray and he’d see Abe later, and then the blond slipped out the door once more, gone until he came back later for a shower and climbing into his bed without a word to Abe, who was staring silently at the wall and unmoving.

When Abe woke the next morning to another full plate of breakfast, he got up from beneath the blanket Mihashi had yet again draped over his shoulders. Sure enough, Abe sat down in his chair and looked to see that there was another note by his plate, the same short message that he’d be back later, and for Abe to get better soon. He ate his breakfast slowly, washed the dishes, then meandered to the door before he even really knew what he was doing. Once he realized, he held his breath, and stepped forward.

A glance into the trashcan showed that today, Mihashi had not attempted a longer version.

The rest of the morning was even worse than it had been the previous day, and Abe found himself doing more of the nervous fidgeting and less of the sleeping to pass the time. He took to the couch instead of his bed for a slight change in scenery if nothing else, glad for the slight discomfort compared to his bed for _something_ else to think about. He tapped his fingers on his thigh to the beat of the seconds passing in his head, eyes watching the wall before he instead began to study the ceiling, memorizing the barely noticeable imperfections in the off-white paint until he was pretty sure he could draw them out on paper to scale.

Just when he was drifting off to sleep, Abe’s ears picked up on the sound of footsteps coming up to their door. He sat up as quickly as he dared, though he hesitated when the door didn’t open. Confused, Abe stood from the couch and walked over, opening the door and seeing Mihashi bent over with a tray balanced precariously in each hand, freezing in place from where, from the looks of it, he’d been about to put one down to open the door.

“Oh, thank you, Abe-kun,” he mumbled, straightening and coming inside when Abe opened the door and took one of the trays from him. He took the tray in his hands and put it at his seat, sitting down only after Abe himself had plopped down in the chair across from him. Abe took the plastic fork and pushed it through its bag, eyes staring at where Mihashi was doing the same. He then looked down to his food, picking first at the green beans and bringing a bite to his mouth, chewing slowly as he glanced at Mihashi. The blond was picking at a salad, trying to get a tomato on his fork and not having too much success. Just when Abe was about to sigh and reach over to offer a hand of help, Mihashi reached down with his fingers, popping it in his mouth and licking the dressing off his fingers. Abe relaxed a bit, looking back down at his food and mulling over the slight irritation he felt brewing in his gut.

Although there was a lessening of the tension from his shoulders because of Mihashi’s presence, the meal was as silent as it was when he’d eaten by himself. Abe tried to think of different things to say before deciding it was probably stupid to try and force a conversation when Mihashi was obviously still feeling awkward around him. He probably just needed time. And so, Abe sat in silence as well, the only sound in the room their plastic forks and soft chewing. The ice in his water clinked apart as it melted, and he stared at it, watching the slow drop of condensation on the side of the glass as he chewed on his cookie with the same aching slowness he felt in the time locked in their room.

As soon as he was finished, Mihashi stood, took both of their trays, and left with a murmured goodbye and promise to bring dinner as well. Abe stared at the door as it shut, then exhaled, relocating back to the couch to attempt to resume his interrupted nap.

By the beginning of the third day of being cooped up in their room, Abe was about ready to tear his hair out if it meant something would change. The sound of the light buzzing, the rushing water through pipes in the walls, the distant murmurs of voices in the hall through the thick walls surrounding their room that were almost never Mihashi despite his gut jumping at the possibility that maybe it _was_ ; every scream of noise in the aching silence was agonizing, broken only by when Mihashi _did_ come in, two trays of food for lunch and then again for dinner, eating with small amounts of chatter, if any. Abe had thought it would be better, not to be alone in their room, but this, this felt almost as painful as his drop out of the Drift. And then the moment Abe hated most, the moment when they were both done eating, and Mihashi grabbed the trays and left him alone again, and he would return to the couch. It was after Mihashi came back that night, showered, and crawled into bed as silently as he had all week, that Abe had the realization that gripped his chest so suddenly, he made a physical noise into their dark room.

Mihashi hadn’t made eye contact with him since their deal.

\----------

The next day, day four out of six of this veritable hell, Abe woke up cranky and restless to another beautiful breakfast and another note, as short and impersonal as all the others. _Good morning, Abe-kun. Here’s your breakfast. Get better soon,_ it said, and it took every fiber of his strength not to ball it up and throw it in the trash. Instead, he settled for using it to hold his glass of water, watching the ink blur under the condensation and curl up into nigh-unreadable blotches of blue.

Today, Abe grabbed the notepad Mihashi had used to write all of his notes and brought it to the couch with him. He drew ten rows of ten dots, then played the little game with himself to make as many boxes as he could, because surely this didn’t count as ‘strenuous activity’. He played five games before he realized how utterly bored he really was, and that sleeping was really the best way to pass time, after all. He lied down on the couch, tossing around and breathing out a low curse when he felt all of the bundled energy inside of him keeping him from falling asleep properly.

Groaning with irritation as he stood up from the couch, Abe pulled off his shirt over his head, walking towards the bathroom. He flicked on the light, tossed his shirt into the basket, then cranked on the shower, making it a little too hot for anything too comfortable. He stripped off the rest of his clothes, and stepped inside, biting on his lip as he hissed out at the searing on his back. He let it burn, standing under the scalding water until he got accustomed to it, then cleaned every inch of himself, scrubbing probably a little too hard and watching his skin turn red beneath the wash cloth. By the time he stepped out, however, he felt better, looking into the fogged up mirror at the patches of darkness his hair created. Then, he reached out and placed his hand on the mirror, dragging down a vertical line on the glass, revealing a blurred image of his side and shoulder.

The burn marks from 144 Sprinter were still there. He reached up a hand and lightly traced them with his fingertips, each straight line from where the wire had burned his skin and left a mark as visible as the mark on his soul was invisible. His fist clenched on the sink as he stared at them, and then his other hand, too, his eyes falling from his reflection down to the sink. He’d done the right thing. Haruna had done the same thing to him, recognizing that they wouldn’t work as a team, and taking the initiative to pull them out of the rotation before they got each other killed and lost a Jaeger and who knows how many lives. Haruna had made the call, had been so calm and collected about it, hadn’t flinched.

Abe’s fingers tightened to paleness, and he felt the grimace on his face. If Haruna could do it, why couldn’t he?

With a choked noise, Abe shoved back from the sink and left the bathroom, toweling off his hair a little harshly as he dug around in his drawer for boxer shorts and a pair of sweatpants. He pulled on the former just as a gentle tapping on the door filled the room, and Abe paused, pulling on his sweatpants before taking the towel and wrapping it around his neck on his way to open the door. He opened it, revealing Sakaeguchi standing in front of him with two trays of food.

“Hey! I brought you lunch,” the ginger said, and Abe blinked, standing back out of habit and letting him in. He shut the door when Sakaeguchi slipped in, putting the trays down on the table and turning to smile at him. “Come on, it’s not bad for cafeteria food, but I don’t imagine it would be too pleasant cold.”

Abe sat down in Mihashi’s seat, as Sakaeguchi had inadvertently sat in his own, grabbing his fork and taking it out of the plastic wrapping. “Thanks, by the way,” Abe said, attacking the pasta first, reaching out for the salt when he found it not quite suitable to his palate.

“Oh, no problem. I figured you’d probably be lonely by yourself, and since Izumi was eating late today and Shouji’s eating with Hanai, I thought I’d join you.” Abe raised an eyebrow, looking at Sakaeguchi over his glass of water.

“Oh, so I’m third tier, huh?” he asked, and Sakaeguchi gave him a sharp look that screamed ‘you you know what I meant’ more than if he’d said the words himself. “But yeah, I appreciate it. Truth be told, it’s really been hell.”

Sakaeguchi made a whining noise in the back of his throat. “I can only imagine! I mean, it can’t be pleasant all cooped up in here by yourself. You can’t even watch tv, right?” Abe nodded, earning a groan. “I’m pretty sure I’d shrivel up and die. I mean, I’ve been lonely enough as it is with Shouji going out in the evenings to work with Hanai in the Kwoon Combat Room, and - well, that’s got its own set of issues, really it does, but, that’s just me being silly, and you’re the one cooped up all alone all day - ”

Abe paused as Sakaeguchi stabbed his salad with probably more force than was necessary, stopping mid-chew as his brain processed what had just been said. “Wait, what about Suyama working with Hanai?” he asked, causing Sakaeguchi to look up at him, the two of them blinking at each other in confusion.

“You didn’t know?” Sakaeguchi said, sitting up a bit from where he’d been hunched over his jello. Abe waited for him to explain, a small twist of anxiety pulling in his gut when Sakaeguchi leaned back, diverting his gaze. “Oh, dear, this is…. this is awkward. Wow. I thought Mihashi would have told you by now.”

“Told me what?!” Abe said, his confusion heating up into something more akin to anger. Sakaeguchi sighed, fork prodding his jello a bit before he lied it down on his tray, folding his hands and leaning over the table to meet Abe’s eyes directly.

“It’s nothing official yet, but Hanai and Suyama have been working together to get Suyama retrained for piloting a Jaeger,” Sakaeguchi said, eyes wide as he took in all of Abe’s reactions carefully. He had no idea what his face looked like, but it must have passed Sakaeguchi’s test, because he continued. “It seems like… there’s a good chance that Suyama and Hanai are going to be copilots for the Striker Cleanup.”

A calm passed over Abe as every muscle in his body stopped, even his heart. “And, Big Windup…?”

Sakaeguchi’s lips pressed together tightly, finger tapping before he spoke. “Mihashi Drifted successfully with Tajima yesterday afternoon,” he said. “Their compatibility score was high enough that they would work well as a team for Big Windup.”

Silence filled the room as Abe’s stomach dropped out of his body to the floor as bitterness like bile rose in his throat. He stared at Sakaeguchi, body feeling like it was ten thousand miles away, and then down at the table, hand curling around his fork so tightly the plastic bent. “Tajima… Drifted? With Mihashi?” he repeated, and Sakaeguchi’s soft positive answer was muffled to his ears, like Abe wasn’t really hearing anything anymore. He pushed back from the table and stood in a rush, turning away as he stalked further into the room, hand running through his hair as the other clenched tightly on his hip, his whole body shaking with a dangerous mix of emotions he wasn’t capable of pulling apart.

Sakaeguchi’s voice came quickly behind him, tone barely positive and calming as he spoke. “Like I said, nothing’s official yet, and, and it all depends on Shouji, really, and when you come back I’m sure Momokan will want to test your compatibility with Tajima, too, and… and I just don’t think anyone was expecting Tajima to actually make it _work_ with Mihashi, really, since, well, you’d know better than anyone why, I suppose… And, well, they are good friends, so I suppose it does make sense… but still, I wouldn’t worry too much, Abe, so… Come on. Come finish your lunch, okay? Abe?”

Abe took his hands and rubbed his face hard, the scream in his chest kept tightly in with each haggard breath he took. The words bounced around in his head, echoing over and over, until finally they came from his clenched teeth out into the room. “They Drifted. A real Drift.” He turned around, one hand clutching the back of his couch as he felt himself glare at Sakaeguchi. “It was a real Drift? Not like ours?”

Sakaeguchi put his fork down, shifting nervously in his chair as he waved a hand around in the air. “…I mean, I haven’t talked to them about it, so I don’t know all the details, and I only heard from Shouji this morning, so - ”

“So you thought you’d come and see if I’d talked to Mihashi about it,” Abe continued, and there was a stillness in the room that was like death before Sakaeguchi stood slowly from the table, walking across the room with hesitant steps. Abe felt his gaze drop to the floor, felt the burning in his whole body of rage and something else he wasn’t quite sure what it was, felt the searing in his chest.

“I came because I thought you’d be lonely for lunch,” Sakaeguchi said definitely, arms crossed as he bent down to force eye contact. “And yes, I’ll admit that I came to make sure that you were okay, too, because… I know this… this can’t be easy news for you to take, but I swear, Abe, I thought you knew, or I wouldn’t have brought it up, I really thought Mihashi would have told you this, and, and I came because I wanted to spend time with you, too. You’re my _friend_ , Abe.”

Abe swallowed thickly, tremors chasing all of the burning emotions beneath his skin. “They Drifted,” he repeated again, lilting it up into a question, and at Sakaeguchi’s nod, he felt all of the burning rush to his eyes as the room blurred in front of him. He took the single step to sit on the couch, body curling forward as his elbows rested on his knees and his head came forward to cope with the sudden dizziness he felt, hands clenched tightly on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, felt his nails digging into the skin beneath them.

The couch next to him fell to Sakaeguchi’s weight as the ginger sat next to him, a gentle hand between Abe’s shoulder blades. Abe felt the shivers start from where he was all but vibrating to try and keep all of the bubbling emotions inside of himself, his head throbbing with the tension between his temples. He brought his head up, sniffling noisily and swallowing past the words that were rising on the back of his throat before he even knew what they were. He cleared his throat, sitting up straight and looking over to Sakaeguchi to see a strained look of sympathy on his friend’s face.

“I told Mihashi I wanted a new partner,” Abe said, and the soothing hand froze on Abe’s back as Sakaeguchi’s face warped into shock. “It’s not true, not really. I want Mihashi to be my partner, but we can’t… We can Drift for a few seconds, but it’s all fucked up. I fall into his head, and it isn’t working. All we’re doing is having me invade his shitty past and forcing him to relive it because we can’t work out the neural load without a Neural Handshake. We made a deal, but...”

“So you told Mihashi that you wanted a new partner and _that’s_ why they’re - ?!” Sakaeguchi said, hand reaching up to clench painfully in Abe’s hair. “Are you an idiot all of the time, or just when it comes to him, huh?!”

“H-hey, that _hurts_ \- !”

“Good!” Sakaeguchi snapped, pulling even harder before letting Abe go. His lips pursed tightly together as he leaned in, finger raised dangerously in Abe’s face. “Now, you listen here, Abe Takaya. I never went through the Jaeger program, so I don’t know how all this Drifting mumbo jumbo works or what it takes, but I have been on this planet for two decades and I have learned a few things about relationships and how important they are. When you find someone, you appreciate them, because you _never_ know when they’re not going to be there the next day.” He inhaled deeply, then exhaled as sharply as a knife. “Now, whether or not you have Mihashi as your copilot, that’s one thing. But to take someone who is working that hard, who’s putting everything he has into working with you, and to just throw him away when it doesn’t work - that’s disgusting, and I won’t have you act like that.”

Abe ran a hand through his hair, massaging his tender scalp with a sour look. “That’s touching and all, and I appreciate the life lesson, _mom_ , but you’re absolutely right. You _didn’t_ go through the Jaeger Academy. You don’t understand how it works. Failing to Drift isn’t the reason why I told him I need a new partner.” Sakaeguchi stared, and Abe huffed out a breath as he glanced down at his hands. “I told him I need a new partner because I fell hard that last time, Sakaeguchi. The last time I fell out of a Drift that hard, I was in a _coma_ for two days. I passed out in our Jaeger, and if the last move we’d made hadn’t killed the Kaiju, not only would _I_ be dead, but Haruna would have died, and who _knows_ how many people I was charged to protect. Billions of dollars of property damage, lives lost, people _dying_ , because I couldn’t admit when a Drift wouldn’t work.” Abe looked up to Sakaeguchi once more, scowling. “I’m not going to make Mihashi go through that.”

Sakaeguchi sighed out carefully, and the room fell silent. “Sorry about gripping your hair,” the ginger mumbled, reaching up and patting it gently. “I just… I think you should talk to Mihashi about this, Abe. You should tell him what you just told me, and you should really explain it to him. It’s only fair, especially if you’re his copilot. You’re sharing more than just a neural load, you know. You get in each other’s heads, and maybe… maybe you’re just not letting Mihashi get inside yours.”

Abe brought his eyes back down to his palms, spreading them open and letting his eyes trail over the lines, over the callouses he’d formed over the years, a few scars whose origin stories he didn’t even remember anymore. He closed his palms, then his eyes, before opening the latter slowly. “I keep seeing him giving up baseball,” Abe murmured, chest aching not only from the phantom emotions of the Drift but from his own reaction to Mihashi’s past, from the echo it had with his own. “It hits a little close to home, to be honest. I don’t like being in Mihashi’s head, and I’m not sure he’d be too happy to be in mine, either.”

Sakaeguchi scoffed. “Sounds more like you’d be just what the other needed, to be honest,” he said, twiddling his thumbs. “You know… I think… I have an idea for something that would help you feel better, all in all.” Abe looked over at Sakaeguchi, raising an eyebrow, but the ginger shook his head. “No, your job for now is to concentrate on feeling better, first and foremost, and then talking to Mihashi. And I mean talking _with_ Mihashi. I know it’s hard for you, but you need to make it work. If he’s the one you want for your copilot, then he’s the one you need to fight for. Plus, whatever ‘deal’ you made with him, you should keep. It’s important for him to know that he can trust you, Abe. Meanwhile,” Sakaeguchi said, standing from the couch and tugging his shirt into place, “I have something I’m going to cook up, and you’re not allowed to know until I’m done. So there!”

“You’re dangerous,” Abe huffed, feeling his lips curl into a mildly amused smile as he stood as well. Sakaeguchi merely beamed back at him, reaching over and putting a comforting hand on his bicep.

“Hey, next time, don’t let stuff like this bottle up inside, okay? You have my cell phone number, and I expect you to use it. Don’t wait until I come up here and bully you into talking to get things out. It’s stressful for the both of us that way.” Sakaeguchi patted him a few times, then put his hand on Abe’s shoulder and pushed him around the couch, through the room, until he pushed down so that Abe was sitting back in his chair at the table. “Now, finish your lunch, and I’ll take our trays to the collection bin while you get more rest.”

Abe grabbed his bent fork, taking some more of the pasta and putting it in his mouth. He grimaced around the consistency of it, looking up at Sakaeguchi with a sour look on his face that matched the pained swallow. “You were right… not good cold,” he said, and Sakaeguchi’s laughter filled the room as he finished his meal, as well.

They ate in silence after that, but it was a different silence than the one that had been plaguing Abe for the past few days. It was a thoughtful silence, one that was quiet on the outside but loud in his mind, just the opposite of how it had been and, he mused, probably exactly what he needed. He finished his meal without any more words passing his lips, and not even any forming concretely in his mind, just impressions of gratitude, and of more hope, again.

“You finished?” Sakaeguchi asked, and Abe nodded, watching as Sakaeguchi piled their plates together on one tray and then stacked the two. “Excellent. All right then, I’ll see myself out, and I’ll keep you posted with things as long as you promise to rest hard these next two days and then start hard when you’re back!”

“Yeah, I promise,” Abe agreed, earning another bright grin as Sakaeguchi gripped the two trays and started for the door. Abe opened it for him, leaning against the doorway and feeling the fond smile pull on his lips. “Hey, Sakaeguchi…” The ginger turned with a questioning noise, and Abe’s smile grew even bigger. “Thanks.”

“Any time!” Sakaeguchi responded brightly, turning back towards the hall and depositing the two trays in a bin at the end. Abe stepped back inside his and Mihashi’s room, shutting the door behind him as he stood, looking around. His eyes traced over the beds, the back of the couch, the flat television on the wall, the table, and the kitchen that Mihashi so loved to use, complete with the horrid black spot on the wall from Abe’s interference.

A sudden motivation spurred him, and Abe walked over to the kitchen area, bending down and grabbing gloves, a sponge, and some cleaning supplies. He pulled the gloves over his hands, then sprayed the black spot, scrubbing at it and watching as the sponge darkened with the char. Then, he brought it to the sink, and as he watched the filth disappear down the drain, his chest felt light.


	12. axis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uwahhh thank you everyone for the love as always, and i hope you enjoy~~~~~

Looking at himself in the mirror, Tajima took the black tie in his hands and pulled it around his neck, tucking it properly under the collar of his shirt. He wrapped the tail around the other side, then again, drawing it up and tucking it in, completing the four-in-hand knot and cinching it up to just beneath his throat. He exhaled sharply when he was done, checking his work and ensuring that it was the kind of dress that would make his old pain-in-the-ass lieutenant colonel proud. Once he was satisfied that the lines were sharp enough to kill a man, Tajima reached over for his jacket and threaded his arms through the sleeves. His wrists smoothly twisted each of the buttons through the holes, the fabric sitting nicely on his thin frame and accenting his figure as perfectly as the custom fit should. All of the awards and titles glittered on his chest, beneath the pin emblem of a Kaiju skull above two crossed baseball bats. The emblem of Jaeger Team Striker Cleanup.

Tajima hated suits.

“I hate wearing this thing,” Hanai mumbled next to him, tugging his tie into place just as finely as Tajima had just done. His hands came down to pull his jacket closed and button it up, pulling everything into place, and Tajima looked back into the mirror, studying the way the top of his head just barely made it to Hanai’s shoulder with an old familiar burn of cinnamon jealousy. Beyond that, though, he sized up the slight curves of Hanai’s sides, the flare of his coat around hip bones that Tajima knew, personally, felt like sin between his thighs, and then back up to the pull of thick arms in crisp sleeves as Hanai mussed with his tie some more, tucking it just so beneath his collar. “I feel like I look like a dress-up doll or something.”

“What are you talking about? You look great!” Tajima said, blinking at the reflection where Hanai leveled an exasperated stare at him in the mirror before he went to grab his phone. “What? I’m serious! Now come here so I can take a picture of us!”

“Tajima - !” Hanai exclaimed, but there was the sound of the picture being taken, and Tajima snickered delightfully as he pulled up his twitter account to upload the picture. “At least  _warn_  me before you do that, geez.”

“You’re just jealous because I have more followers than you do,” Tajima said, tagging Hanai in the picture (‘#mirrorselfie getting ready for a photo shoot for @RollingStone with @hanai_azusa. maybe he’ll smile this time!’). He looked to his page (‘@battertajima; tajima yuuichirou, jaeger pilot striker cleanup, @hanai_azusa, baseball/ktd: 4, bring it, kaiju!  ᕦ ( ≧▽≦ ) ᕤ ’) and then Hanai’s (‘@hanai_azusa; jaeger pilot of striker cleanup/copilot @battertajima, ktd: 4’), and noted with an amused hum that he wasn’t as ahead as he’d thought. “Though, you’re catching up. You’ve almost got two million, Hanai!”

Hanai looked like he was going to say something else, but instead he bit back the words and looked down to the watch on his left wrist. “Ah, come on, we need to go or we’ll be late. The photographer’s supposed to be here by ten, and after the interview we’re having lunch with them in the meeting room.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tajima agreed, tossing his phone where it was blowing up with notifications on Hanai’s bed, instead grabbing his hat and pulling it on so the brim was perfectly level with his brow. He looked at himself once more in the mirror, taking in with glee how exceptionally fine he looked in the military dress until his eyes dropped down to the Team Striker Cleanup pin where it caught the light. His hands clenched slowly at his side as his gaze traced each dip in the metal, happiness cooling into something that had his heart rushing in his chest as he spoke without looking at the man next to him. A cold curl of emotion slithered in his gut. “Hanai… is this the last time I’m going to wear this pin?”

Hanai stilled where he was tugging on the sleeve of his dress shirt to adjust his cuffs links back into proper place, and Tajima heard the silence in the room that followed as soon as Hanai stopped moving and his own too-even voice died. He looked up, not to Hanai’s reflection in the mirror, but to the strong line of his jaw, noticing a small place where he’d missed himself shaving that morning, and then up to the dip above his upper lip where Hanai licked nervously, and finally up to his eyes, which were trained securely on the mirror in an expression that was excruciatingly complicated.

“Tajima…” Hanai began, mouth clamping shut and jaw tightening as his brow furrowed ever so slightly, lips dipping from the careful, barely neutral stare into a hint of a frown. He exhaled slowly, arms coming down to his sides. “We have to follow Marshal’s orders. Even if… it’s not what we want. If that means that Suyama is my copilot and you work with Mihashi for Big Windup, that’s what we’ll do.”

Tajima felt his gut twist, the knot that had been there for almost a week tightening as the flavor of his mouth soured. He snapped his eyes back to the mirror, looking from the pin on his chest, and then to the one on Hanai’s chest, the matching pin to his own that was so far above where his was placed. He looked into Hanai’s face, then, studied where it was pulled with tight frustration at the situation, and he looked down to the floor, eyes sharp at the thoughts of how  _stupid_  Abe was and how it wasn’t  _fair_ , he’d already proved himself over Suyama  _twice_  before and why was he having to watch this happen all over again when it hurt, it  _hurt_  - 

But Tajima swallowed hard past the clawing of bitterness scratching up in his throat, looking to Hanai and forcing all of the negativity to disappear from his expression as he reached out and slapped his copilot firmly on the back with a grin as firm as it was false. “Make sure to smile nice and big, Hanai! You looked too grumpy in that last photo shoot. Wouldn’t want this one to be anything less than perfect, right?”

Hanai spluttered, his hat pulling a bit further on his head where he was gripping it as his shoulders jerked up to his ears. “Y-You…! That was all  _your_  fault, if you’ll remember!” Tajima laughed genuinely, remembering the sulky stare Hanai had leveled on him almost that entire shoot, recalling it perfectly with an ache in his chest he refused to let settle. Instead, he turned sharply on his heel, leading the way out of their room with his perfectly-shined black shoes clicking noisily in the wide hall. He glanced over his shoulder as Hanai shut their door behind him, locked it, and tucked the key into one of his pockets, and then Tajima started walking, legs moving fast both because of the harsh edge of excitement from another photo shoot of the two of them as Team Striker Cleanup digging its nails in his gut, and also because Hanai’s mile-long legs were a little hard to keep up with if he wasn’t careful.

The hallways were a bit more busy than usual this time of morning than what he was used to with their usual departure of about five fifteen, and Tajima noticed each of the snuck glances at them with spiraling pride from his toes to the tips of his ears. He looked up to Hanai out of the corner of his eye, unable to keep his mouth from curling into a devious smile when Hanai gave him a warning glare. “Whatever you’re planning, stop it. If I get another phone call from my mom about our pictures,  _you’re_  talking to her.”

“Okay!” Tajima agreed with sparkling brightness in his chest, wishing he could put his hands in his pockets but knowing that the wrinkles would mess up his perfect attire. Instead, he settled for clenching his hands into tight balls, chewing on the brilliance thick on his tongue. He still had their last magazine spread pinned up on the wall by his bunk, along with his favorites from the other nine of their magazine photo shoots over the eight months they’d been piloting Striker Cleanup, each glossy page a testament to their partnership, how hard they’d both worked to get to this point, years of fighting tooth and claw to get into a Jaeger together to protect Saitama.

When they reached the elevator, Hanai waited as Tajima pressed the button. The both of them stepped on, and Tajima reached over, jabbing his thumb into the button for their floor before stepping back. He put his arms behind him, standing at loose attention, and as the door slowly drifted shut, his eyes caught Hanai’s reflection in the shiny metal. A jolt of pleasure ran through him at how  _good_  they looked standing next to each other, even with the massive height difference. No one looked as good standing next to him than Hanai did, Tajima thought, smile dipping a bit as his mind once again returned to the turmoil Abe fucking Takaya had started. 

Before his anger could mount to anything more than a single passing thought, before he could decide he wanted to make sure Hanai knew that no matter who his copilot was  _Tajima_ was his partner, a bit of movement caught Tajima’s attention. He looked over to his left, watching as Hanai pulled out a tube of chapstick with a grimace on his face. He popped the cap off, his wrist twisting, and then he was applying it to his lips, and - 

Tajima felt his eyes widen as he watched Hanai apply the chapstick as if in slow motion, each sweep over Hanai’s lips moisturizing where they weren’t quite dry, because Hanai was always good about keeping them that way. With that observation came a sudden and startling thought that had Tajima’s heart skipping a beat almost as quickly as staring at Hanai’s lips had, the thought that he could  _know_  something like how often Hanai applied chapstick, that he  _knew_  the state of Hanai’s lips; and then, Tajima’s stomach was on the floor and heat searing his face as he jerked his gaze away from where Hanai could see it. Tajima was no stranger to sexual desire, had known for a long time that he wanted to have sex with Hanai; but  _this_  was new,  _this_ was something incredible. But it  _wasn’t_  new, probably, Tajima realized with bubbles popping in his gut and filling him with air he couldn’t exhale. It had been years, at least, Tajima thought wondrously, maybe even since the first time Hanai had pinned him to the floor of the Kwoon Combat Room years ago in the Jaeger Academy. Tajima had felt something then, something amazing, something that only Hanai had ever made him feel - the sweaty palms, the skipping excitement of his chest, the giddy champagne of pleasure whenever they were together, everything came together in a moment of clarity that had Tajima stunned with the words in his mind. 

Holy shit. He really,  _really_  wanted to kiss Hanai.

The soft click of the cap back on the chapstick pulled Tajima out of the split-second revelation that had him all but spinning in the elevator, and he watched as Hanai slipped the chapstick in his pocket. It was probably warm with the heat of having been there, Tajima thought, swallowing nervously and feeling himself start to sweat a bit. And then, he reached his hand out, stretching his fingers over and invading Hanai’s pocket. 

“T-Tajima, what - ?!” Hanai exclaimed, wiggling away a moment too late as Tajima pulled out the tube victoriously, removing the cap and smoothing the balm over his own lips before Hanai could come out of his stupor. It was smooth on his mouth, and the thought that this was definitely an indirect kiss had him shimmering with excitement, practically vibrating in his shoes. Tajima noisily smacked his lips, putting the cap back on and looking over to where Hanai was staring at him, jaw slack with surprise. 

“Thanks,” Tajima said cheerfully, feeling almost high with his revelation and extending the chapstick back with a satisfied cat grin. Hanai straightened, huffing out an annoyed breath as he snatched the tube back and stuffed it back in his pocket. Tajima blinked innocently, waiting for the chastising to begin, but instead he watched curiously as Hanai pointedly didn’t look at him, cheeks flushing a light pink and face taut.

“You could have just  _asked_ , you know,” Hanai grumbled, looking down at Tajima after another floor had passed. Tajima wasn’t quite sure what his face looked like, but whatever it was, it caused Hanai to blink back at him in surprise. There was a hiccup of silence between them as they waited, and then Tajima’s eyes fell down to the way Hanai’s lips started to wrap around his words, the way he spoke with that tone of voice that was a touch authoritative because Hanai was always authoritative but it was that different tone,  _Tajima’s_  tone, the way he spoke only to  _him._ “What, did you think I’d say no? If you needed - ”

Tajima reached out his hand, mind blank of thoughts and only actions remaining. His fingers gripped Hanai’s tie desperately, pulling, and Hanai’s hands came up as he stumbled forward at the sudden force, planting on the elevator wall on either side of Tajima’s head. He heard a sliver of his name, startled on Hanai’s tongue as he came to his tip toes, his other hand reaching to clutch at Hanai’s neck and then he was  _melting_ , eyes shut and lips slanting beneath Hanai’s. He exhaled a shuddering breath through his nose, lips parting as he savored every brushing contact of the kiss with a matching shiver down his spine, fingers clenching and pulling harder until he came back to himself, mind hazed with the satisfaction of a desire years old. And then, before he could step back, before he could work up the energy needed to uncoil his fingers, before he could do anything more than open his eyes and see the red flush of Hanai’s cheeks, he was surprised by gripping fingers at his nape, and the distant awareness of his hat falling to the ground was swallowed like his groan when Hanai kissed him again, lips moving over his own as Hanai crowded his space and stole whatever breath Tajima had left in his lungs.

The elevator wall was cold against his back, cold and hard, but Tajima knew that wasn’t why he was shivering. He wrapped his arms around Hanai’s neck, pulling himself into the kiss, only for his knees all but give out when hot wetness slicked along his lower lip and  _oh my God Hanai was licking him_. He heard himself whimper, heard a broken plea that sounded like Hanai’s name, and then Hanai’s mouth was on him again, teeth clacking until Hanai tugged on Tajima’s hair to tilt his head and all of the air in Tajima’s body was sucked out of him, dizzying him into clutching desperately at Hanai’s skin. Hanai’s tongue curled around his own, messy and inexperienced but so fucking good, leaving Tajima quivering when he pulled back after just a few exploratory sweeps. Tajima could feel the wetness on his jaw over the red-hot flush, and he brought one of his hands from around Hanai’s neck, wiping his mouth with the underside of his wrist as his eyes fought to come open. When they did, his heart nearly stopped again at the sight of Hanai looming in his face, eyes blown wide and mouth hanging wide open as he panted with the heat still clinging to his veins as surely as it was clinging to Tajima’s.

“What… what was that,” Hanai breathed, no upward lilt but a question nonetheless. Tajima vibrated with the need to look down and take in the disheveled appearance, but he couldn’t look away from Hanai’s dilated pupils if it would save the world.

Tajima swallowed, mouth trembling open even though he wasn’t sure he could speak correctly. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, I think,” he said honestly, and then there was the tug of the elevator coming to a stop, and finally, Tajima looked away to see that they’d arrived on the correct floor for their photo sh - oh,  _shit._  He pushed Hanai away, eyes falling to his wrinkled tie, every crisp line defiled and marked by the clutching desperation of the kiss, and after a quick snort where he really did try to hold it in, Tajima laughed giddily until he was just about howling, tears streaming down his face and diaphragm cramping him into a bent-over position. Hanai flushed cherry red, bending down and snatching Tajima’s cap off the floor, tugging it onto his head as the elevators door slid open to reveal the bustling hall of people running around to get things done. 

“ _God_ , Tajima, just… Come here,” Hanai snapped, clutching his shoulder and tugging him off the elevator. Tajima followed as best as he could, still laughing, until he realized Hanai was plucking at his clothes to tuck everything back into place. “You  _honestly_  couldn’t have decided to do that this morning  _before_ …?!”

“Nope!” Tajima quipped, grinning into Hanai’s pathetic attempt at a glare. Sometimes, Hanai could be intimidating, yes, but when he was flushed from ears to neckline and sporting lips that definitely looked like they’d just been kissed to high heaven and back, Tajima’s tingling with the knowledge that it was  _his_  kiss that had given them that appearance, there was no hope. He reached his own hands up to mess with his tie a bit as Hanai straightened to tug himself back into place, eyes darting around the hall cautiously to see if people were staring, probably freaking out about whether or not it was obvious they’d just been making out in the elevator. “Hey, Hanai,” Tajima said, reaching over to grip Hanai’s tie and fix it into place for him. “Was that okay?”

Hanai flushed even deeper red, mouth pressing into a firm line in his embarrassment. “‘Okay’ isn’t - !” he started, teeth clacking with the force of his jaw clenching shut as his eyes deviated from Tajima’s and his shoulders hitched up to his steaming ears. Tajima blinked up into his face curiously, and in a different world where they hadn’t shared minds for almost a year, he might have wondered what that expression meant, but here, he savored the spill of liquid gold into his veins and would have pulled his copilot down into the smooch that burned his mouth were it not for the way Hanai started walking down the hall. “Come on, we’re late! Marshal’s going to  _kill_  us…”

Tajima jovially stepped forward, all but dancing to catch up into place at Hanai’s side as they walked purposefully towards their photo shoot and interview, wondering just how much trouble he’d get in if he reached out and took Hanai’s hand in his own. He looked down to see Hanai nervously fiddling with the hem of his jacket, and then turned his gaze back to the front, ecstatic grin crossing his face. Next time, for sure.

\----------

Abe exhaled with relief as he stepped out of the medical ward, the sound of Ochi’s giggling over Dr. Yuuri sealing off with the shut door behind him. He slipped his hands in his pockets as he turned and started down towards the elevator, thumb tapping at his  hip in thought.

He’d been cleared for full activity, after spending the week doing absolutely nothing but recover (well, recover and fret over the impending future-deciding match with Mihashi at the end of the week). He hadn’t even told Mihashi he knew about him and Tajima Drifting, though every second of holding the words in his mouth while they were eating meals together had been a veritable hell, and the time while he was falling asleep at night was spent staring at the indention in the bunk above him from Mihashi’s weight, wondering if Mihashi hadn’t told him because he was worried that the stress would agitate Abe’s recovery or if he’d just been too scared of Abe’s reaction. The former irritated, if flattered him, and the latter just straight up pissed him off. The thought that Mihashi would be scared of him was maddening, and he wasn’t sure how much more angry chomping his toothbrush could take.

The elevator doors opened and Abe stepped inside while a scrawny young man about his age in reading glasses stepped off, almost running into him for the fact that his nose was buried deep in what looked like an incredibly difficult text. Abe pushed the button for their floor, watching as the doors slid shut and the red numbers changed in equal intervals until the machine came to a stop at his destination. Their hall was empty save for a couple people loitering around someone’s door, chatting. Abe walked forward until he got to his and Mihashi’s room, fishing around in his pocket for his keys. They pressed warm into his palm, jingling loudly in the hall as he pulled them out and unlocked their door.

He shut the door loudly behind him, only to startle when he saw a mop of blond hair and Mihashi’s shoulders on their couch. At the sound of him coming in, Mihashi turned around, and Abe blinked into wide hazel eyes from the doorway.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked at last, toeing off his boots. “Don’t you usually spend the afternoons out lately?” Mihashi’s spine stiffened, his head turning back to where he’d been watching television as he murmured something incomprehensible. Abe sighed, walking over to the couch and putting a hand on the back before flopping down next to the blond. “What did you say?” 

“I said… I knew you had a doctor’s appointment, so…” Mihashi repeated softly, looking over carefully at Abe with an expectant expression on his face. Abe stared for a moment, trying to decipher what that look meant, and then it clicked into place that Mihashi was waiting for him to share the results of his appointment. 

“It went fine. I’m clear for returning back to active duty,” Abe said, and sure enough, Mihashi exhaled out, shoulders relaxing back down as if someone had cut his strings. The fact that Mihashi was still relieved he was well had a surge of warm pleasure tickling Abe’s lungs, and he let his body sink back into the couch with a sigh of his own. “What’re you watching?” he asked, and Mihashi looked to the television with a gaping wide mouth of interest.

“T-Tajima-kun and Hanai-kun’s interview,” Mihashi responded eagerly before stiffening up. “Um, Abe-kun can… it’s okay if… you can watch it, right?”

“I told you, I’m cleared for normal activity!” Abe snapped, watching with a flicker of irritation as Mihashi seized up briefly. “I mean, yeah, I can watch it,” Abe said again, concentrating on keeping his voice as calm as possible. It seemed to work, as Mihashi looked at him curiously, his muscles going from pure steel back down to the relaxed state they had before he turned back to the television, enraptured. 

Abe turned his attention back to the television, his arm going on the back of the couch as he watched the interviewer ask Tajima and Hanai about their last attack on Blue Sprinter. Hanai started answering the question, with Tajima giving supporting information when he apparently decided it was necessary, both of them sitting on the couch turned slightly towards the guy at the desk who was making jokes for entertainment value. Abe wondered if it was live, or if they’d filmed it sometime this week when he’d been out and it was just now airing.

“Do… all Jaeger pilots get interviews?” Mihashi asked suddenly, and Abe bent his arm at the elbow where it was splayed on the back of the couch to run his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, probably. I only had that one drop and I still landed a news interview after I got out of the hospital,” Abe said, feeling Mihashi stiffen next to him and stilling in response. Oops.

“H-Hospital…?!” Mihashi repeated, staring at him with horror etched on his pale face. Abe met his gaze, and in the back of his head he heard Sakaeguchi’s voice accusing him of not letting Mihashi get into his mind. The irritation at the Jumphawk flight pilot being right flared like a light in the dark. Especially with Mihashi looking this terrified, maybe of becoming a Jaeger pilot, he needed to talk. He’d never told Mihashi anything about himself, after all, and it seemed fair, in a way, since Abe had been getting in his mind this whole time but Mihashi hadn’t had the chance to get into Abe’s.

“The drop where I took out Blue Mitt was my first real time in a Jaeger,” Abe said, eyes trained on where Mihashi was staring at him, quivering. “Haruna and I never Drifted exceptionally well, but it was good enough to get us in the same machine.” Abe looked down from Mihashi’s face, down to the blond’s hands where they were clenched tightly at his thighs. “It’s a lot different outside of the Simulator. Heavier. Harder to move. And without a good Drift, it hurts.”

“Is that where…?” Mihashi murmured, and Abe felt the slight pressure of an inquisitive touch on his side. He felt himself nod.

“I was lucky I didn’t fall out of the Drift until after we killed the Kaiju. God, I fell hard, too.” Abe closed his eyes, recalling the screaming pain in the phantom markings on his shoulder and side. “The electromyograph suit tried to compensate by increasing the connection, but all it did was burn the shit out of my skin. Luckily, I passed out after a bit, so the worst of it was done while I was unconscious. I was in a coma for two days, and when I woke up, Haruna had taken us off the roster.”

Abe opened his eyes when he felt the warm press of a hand on his side, watching mutely as Mihashi carefully applied the weight of his palm to the cotton of Abe’s shirt. Mihashi trailed his hand down, gaze following his hand, and then back up, each inch he touched carefully warmed until Mihashi’s fingers gripped in the cotton on Abe’s left shoulder. “Tomorrow morning,” he said, eyes slowly lifting to meet Abe’s. His mouth opened wordlessly, forming shapes around the words he wanted to say, but Abe could see in the  heavy press of Japanese on Mihashi’s tongue exactly what he was talking about.

“Yeah, tomorrow morning. After breakfast,” he agreed. Mihashi’s mouth clenched shut, grip on his shoulder tightening so much that the opposite side of Abe’s collar started to dig painfully into his neck, but he ignored it in favor of letting Mihashi’s frustration channel with his own. But then, Mihashi deflated, grip relaxing, and Abe exhaled carefully as he bumped Mihashi’s leg with his own. “Wake me up so we can make breakfast, okay?”

“Okay,” Mihashi responded, slowly releasing Abe’s shirt as his hand came back down to his side. “Um… Do you want to watch a movie or something?” 

Abe glanced over at the television where a commercial was playing in the middle of Tajima and Hanai’s interview, and then he brought his gaze back to Mihashi’s questioning face. “Can I catch for you instead?”

Mihashi inflated with joy at the question, lips pressing tightly together as he nodded fiercely and scrambled off the couch towards the dresser where both of their mitts sat side-by-side. Mihashi snagged them both, holding them tightly to his chest as he spun around to stare at Abe. When the blond saw that he wasn’t off the couch yet, he started bouncing on his toes in excited energy, and the sight had Abe laughing as he pushed off the cushions. “Okay, okay, get the bag of - yeah, all right let’s go.”

They left the room, walking over to the elevator and returning to the floor where they first met, to that balcony. Mihashi’s gridlines were a little faded from where Abe remembered them as perfectly crisp, but somehow, instead of making him sad, the thought warmed him all over. Mihashi didn’t need a grid when he had Abe, after all. 

After warming up and stretching together, Abe walked over to the wall, getting into a crouch across from Mihashi. The blond looked more rested than he had all week, Abe thought with a bit of relief, and as for himself, he was desperate to work out the pent up energy bursting in each fibre of his muscles. He reached between his legs, signaling for a shoot, far out to the right so that Abe would have to leap for it. Mihashi nodded, wound up, and Abe lunged as the ball came, catching it in his mitt with a good sound as he gripped the ball tight.

“Nice ball!” he shouted, throwing it back and returning back to his crouch. This time, he asked for a curve, upper right, for a good stretch. It hit perfectly where it should, hitting his palm and making him shiver with the delight to catch. He signaled for forty minutes, slowly tapering off his signs until they were in the same zone they’d been in that fateful day, Abe lifting his glove and Mihashi knowing precisely what to pitch, both one body and one mind connected over the eighteen and a half meters between them in the dying sunlight. 

Abe called for the last ball once it got dark enough for him to lose the glittering of Mihashi’s eyes, knowing that much more and it would be dangerous for him to be catching without protective gear for a lack of light. Mihashi wound up and pitched, and the ball sank as heavily into Abe’s glove as all the others before it. He sat there for a moment, relishing in the delight tickling his whole body, and then stood, grimacing at the pull of his thighs. He walked over to Mihashi, and the two stretched out, sweaty and filthy but feeling good, Abe thought, warm all over not just from the exercise but from how fluid Mihashi’s movements were, how fluid his own were, how they’d spent at least an hour pitching in perfect unison without signs.

“That was really good, Mihashi,” Abe said when they started back to the room, slinging an arm around Mihashi’s neck and hauling him close when the blond flushed bright pink beyond the hint of exertion on his face. “I’m serious. You’re exactly the kind of pitcher I always wanted.”

“Not… not Haruna-san?” Mihashi asked, blinking curiously up at a startled Abe and earning a sour look before Abe stomped it down fiercely. He wasn’t going to let anything spoil his good mood.

“Definitely not,” he settled for instead, tightening his hold on Mihashi’s neck and bringing him even closer. “I’d take your perfect pitching over his stupid fastballs any day.” Sure enough, Mihashi bloomed under the praise, both hands clenching tightly around his glove, and Abe laughed, using his glove in the hand he had slung over Mihashi’s shoulder to ruffle at his hair, earning a squeak in response. Once they got to the elevator, Abe removed his arm, putting his mitt under his arm as he pressed for the button to return to their floor. “All right, let’s go shower and get to bed. I’ll call in for the laundry while you get cleaned up.”

“O-okay,” Mihashi acknowledged, and the elevator was quiet save for the sound of mechanical gears and the bare hint of their breathing. 

When they got back to the room, Abe took Mihashi’s glove from him, ears catching where the blond disappeared into the bathroom to crank on the shower. He put their mitts on the dresser after cleaning them both, then pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and pulling up the contacts list. He scrolled through until he got to the laundry, then made the call for their basket to be picked up in the morning while they were gone.  About that time, Mihashi emerged from the bathroom, pink-skinned from scrubbing and blond hair lying flat on his head for a change. Abe stepped in after him, inhaling the heavy steam still hanging in the room as he stripped off his shirt first, tugging it over his head and relishing in the pull of his muscles post-workout. It felt good to have that sore body from catching, he thought, unbuckling his pants and pulling the belt out to place it on their counter, his pants and boxer briefs then following his shirt into the laundry basket. His socks followed last, and he turned on the water, already hot from where Mihashi had just gotten out, and stepped in. The sweat disappeared as he washed himself with the washcloth, white bubbles disappearing down the drain from head to toe until he felt clean and refreshed. He turned off the water, then grabbed a towel, drying himself off.

Abe grabbed his toothbrush and brushed his teeth, his toothbrush spared angry biting for his good mood from catching, until finally he emerged from the bathroom to a room dark save for the small lamp on their bedside table. He padded over to the dresser, pulling out a pair of sweatpants to pull on for sleeping. He then took the towel and mussed his hair around more, turning to return to the bathroom to put it in with the rest of the laundry only to pause when he noticed Mihashi’s eyes staring at him from the top bunk. Abe held the gaze, waiting for Mihashi to either say something or close his eyes and signal that he was going to sleep, but instead, there was a small bit of movement, and Abe looked to see Mihashi’s hand dragging shyly over his sheet, inch by inch until his palm was facing out. A glance back to Mihashi’s face revealed nothing, and Abe looked back to Mihashi’s hand, staring until he realized what it was Mihashi was asking for. 

Abe reached out his hand as well, their palms pressing together on top of Mihashi’s sheet. He startled at the fact that Mihashi’s hand was a bit cool, but his face dipped into a touch of a frown when he realized that they weren’t too different in temperature. He clenched his fingers tightly around Mihashi’s, their simple palm-touch becoming something intense and probably borderline painful, but Mihashi’s grasp changed with his, his fingers squeezing back too. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there, holding Mihashi’s hand, but after a few moments, he closed his eyes on an exhale, and just as he released the grasp, Mihashi did too. “Good night, Abe-kun,” Mihashi said into their room, and Abe nodded, bringing his towel up to rub at his jawline. 

“Yeah. See you in the morning, Mihashi,” he responded back. He took his towel into the bathroom and tossed it into the basket, then crawled into bed, reaching over to turn out the lamp on their dresser. The room plunged into a heavy darkness, and Abe lied on his back, pulling his blanket over his legs and staring at the bunk above him. Slowly, his eyes adjusted as he blinked into the nothingness, and he studied the depression of Mihashi’s body above him carefully, memorizing its shape. Then, he closed his eyes, and fell quickly asleep.

\----------

Abe woke early the next morning, a few moments before his alarm went off. He rolled out of bed with a groan, reaching an arm up to clutch onto the bunk bed above him and pulling himself up. Mihashi was bundled under his blanket like a bird in a nest, and he couldn’t help the amused snort at the way his butt was hanging in the air. How on earth the blond slept like that was a mystery.

“Mihashi, wake up,” he said, reaching over and grabbing Mihashi’s shoulder to shake him. Burbling noises came out of the blond’s mouth, and then his eyes blinked open groggily as he croaked out Abe’s name. “Yeah, good morning. Come on, let’s make breakfast.” Mihashi groaned, but he sat up, wobbling about before slowly making his way out of his bed. He stretched his arms above his head, reaching under his shirt and scratching his belly, and Abe rolled his eyes before heading into the kitchen to begin, knowing that above all else would get the blond into jumpstarting his brain.

Sure enough, the moment Abe touched the frying pan, there was a gentle but insistent touch at his elbow, and Mihashi edged in, eyes wide and carefully not meeting his own. Abe felt the snicker rise in his chest, but he hid it, not wanting Mihashi to know just how easily he’d just been manipulated. Instead, he focused on cutting up the fruit, a Mihashi-approved activity for him, and starting the rice in the rice cooker. 

They ate in silence, a tenseness between them that was unspoken but absolutely, definitely there. Abe felt the strain in his shoulders from how tightly he was holding them unconsciously, but no amount of relaxing was making them loose. Not when Mihashi was obviously the same way, not when they both knew that the future of their partnership was on the line. Not even the deliciousness of Mihashi's breakfast or the joy that they'd made their first meal without incident cooled the turmoil in his gut.

When they finished eating, they cleaned the dishes together, side by side at the sink as Abe washed and Mihashi dried and put away. Then, finally, they grabbed their bags of gym clothes and Abe pulled on a shirt, and the two of them stood silently in the middle of the room. Abe wanted to reach over and place a hand on Mihashi’s shoulder, but instead he clenched a fist at his thigh. This had been his decision, and he didn’t have a right at this point to comfort Mihashi. Not when it was his fault that those muscles were so obviously tense. Part of him too, wanted to call the whole thing off, but he swallowed down the words. Sakaeguchi had been right. He needed to keep his deal with Mihashi. He needed their partnership to be one won by the both of them together, not stumbled upon and forced unnaturally together. They both needed this.

“Ready?” he asked, and Mihashi nodded, eyes meeting Abe’s with that fierce determination he had expected but still that took his breath away. He wondered if he’d ever be able to meet that gaze head on, nodding once and taking the first steps towards the elevator and, after that, the Kwoon Combat Room.

Their walk was silent, the elevator even more so. They walked to the locker room through the empty hall, pushing inside. Abe put his bag down in front of his locker, pulling off his sweat pants he’d worn to sleep and the shirt he’d tugged on before leaving the room, replacing it with the white tee shirt and the exercise pants he used in the Kwoon Combat Room. He put his bag in the locker, then turned to see Mihashi shutting the door of his own locker, looking over his shoulder expectantly. Abe nodded, and then the two of them walked over into the Kwoon Combat Room.

The air was heavy as Abe grabbed two poles, one for him and one for Mihashi. He handed the blond his pole, and they stretched together for a few moments, not a word said between them. Abe put the pole in the small of his back as he used it to twist, eyes locked on where Mihashi was stretching out his legs, no doubt to prepare them for his sneaky little moves to get people on the floor. He’d have to watch out for that, he knew, eyes closed as he tried to recall all of Mihashi’s moves and how best to dodge them. Then again, he’d never seen Mihashi in a real fight.

It came almost too quickly when they were standing across from one another on the mat of the Kwoon Combat Room, Abe’s breath already picking up in anticipation. Mihashi’s eyes were focused on the ground, and then slowly they raised to his own, calm and golden beneath the lights. Mihashi sank into his position, hands secure on his pole, and Abe felt that same tingling beneath his skin as he did every time he stood across from Mihashi, be it here or with a glove covering his hand, the sensation that was the one between him and Mihashi alone.

Without a word between them, they both stepped forward, covering the short few steps between them until Mihashi’s pole came forward. Abe lifted his own to block, but Mihashi’s pole diverted to the side with a clench of the blond’s biceps, coming around in a move that would have been a hard hit to Abe’s elbow had he not twisted out of the way in the split second he saw it coming. Abe used the momentum of the move, bringing his pole around and catching the bottom of Mihashi’s. Most would have been disarmed, but Mihashi’s wrist twisted with it, pole coming around and catching Abe firmly against his side and earning a grunt of pain and a bruise not too different from the one Tajima had given him. The little cinnamon-eyed shit had definitely taught Mihashi some moves, Abe thought, stepping forward again just in time to dodge Mihashi’s ankle maneuver. His muscles clenched tight to keep the followup nudge to the back of his knee from making him fall, but the subsequent clack of Mihashi’s pole against his own had him paying for the move by breaking his rhythm. 

Abe recovered in a split second, grabbing his pole with his free hand and releasing it with the hand that had been compromised, and with a spin, he used Mihashi’s slight opening to land a sharp blow to the blond’s shoulder. Mihashi cried out in pain, and Abe’s gut clenched, both from the sound and from the fact that he’d been aiming for his arm for a disarming move and had missed. Mihashi was good,  _better_  than good, and the thought fueled him into pushing harder, wanting to match the fire burning in Mihashi’s eyes with his own. His toes clenched hard on the mat to stabilize his spin into a hard smack of the pole, and the clack of wood against wood filled the room over and over as they just barely avoided each match-ending blow. 

His breath was coming in hard now, muscles screaming with the intense precision needed to keep away from Mihashi’s pin-point blows, sweat running down his face as they both took it a step further, spinning and dodging and kicking out and missing. It was a match to draw blood, but it felt more like a dance than Abe had ever experienced in the Academy, anger biting at the thought that he was so obviously Drift compatible with Mihashi but they couldn’t make it work, searing fury at the fact that  _Tajima_  had made it work somehow when he didn’t have  _this_ , this bone-deep connection that should normally only come after weeks of trust from going through the program together or a lifetime of friendship. The heat in his chest was enough to push Abe one step faster, one step further, and with a sharp snap of his pole and a twist of his body, Mihashi was falling, arms flailing, and Abe was crouched over him, pole pressing into the blond’s windpipe as his knees pressed his arms into the mat.

They stared at each other for a few seconds as the adrenaline pumped through their bodies, chests heaving with breath, skin soaked with sweat, and then it sank in. Abe watched Mihashi’s face flush splotchy red, teeth clenching as his expression screwed up and his eyes filled to the brim with hot tears, a wet hiccup coming out that was impeded by the fact that Abe was too in shock to move. And then Abe realized, and he let up his pole, shifting so that he wasn’t pinning Mihashi, just sitting in his lap, watching as the blond’s hands came to his face and pressed hard as he sobbed brokenly on the floor beneath him. He stared, chest breaking into pieces, and he reached his hand out shakily, about to reach for Mihashi’s face when there was a sharp voice in the doorway.

“Abe-kun!” Abe looked up to see Momoe standing in the doorway of the Kwoon Combat Room, Shinooka at her side, both staring at him where he was the clear victor to a fight. Momoe looked down to Mihashi, and then back to Abe, her shoulders straightening. “Come on. I want you to try Drifting with Tajima-kun. He’s waiting.” She’d added the last part on purpose, Abe thought, gritting his teeth as he looked from her down to where Mihashi was shaking and still crying pathetically. “Abe-kun, now.”

It wasn’t a request. Abe climbed off Mihashi, waited for the blond to pull his hands away from his face so he could help him up, at least, waited for five seconds longer than he dared with Momoe’s ire a threat on the horizon; but Mihashi remained, still wailing as his legs came up and he rolled over onto his side to pull into a ball of misery. Abe’s heart bled, and he turned to tell Momoe that he didn’t  _want_  to Drift with Tajima, damn it he wanted to Drift with  _Mihashi_ , but his eyes locked with hers, and he saw in them the fate of the world hanging on the other end of Mihashi’s shivering form.

Eyes burning and fists clenched at his sides, Abe took first one step, and then another, until he was following Momoe robotically down the hall and away from the hiccuping blond where Abe had left him - and something else, though what it was, he had no name for it - on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> while i was writing this chapter my mother came up to me. 'wow are you wearing blush today? your cheeks are so pretty and pink'. lmao. no mother. i was writing tajihan kisses


	13. shimmer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uwohhh hello everyone and thank you all for the incredible love and affection!! this chapter is. whew. This Chapter. 
> 
> i come bearing incredible gifts!! please go check these out and help me thank the artists for AMAZING work:
> 
>  
> 
> [seasaltinecrackers - some abemihs uwohhh that last miha is killin me](http://seasaltinecrackers.tumblr.com/post/107773946205/points-luv-that-pacific-rim-oofuri-au)
> 
>  
> 
> [expplipo - tajihan twitter selfie [scream]](http://expplipo.tumblr.com/post/107693685276/mirrorselfie-getting-ready-for-a-photo-shoot-for)
> 
>  
> 
> [queenoftheantz - lots of AMAZING scene work (how does myra get in my head? we just dont know)](http://queenoftheantz.tumblr.com/post/107440820784/the-pacific-rim-oofuri-fic-break-on-the-willow)
> 
>  
> 
> also a reminder that i collect headcanons and fanart on [this](http://blondnepeta.tumblr.com/tagged/oofuri-pacific-rim-au) tag at my tumblr, but dont go there until the latest chap in case of spoilers!
> 
> THANK YOU ALL THREE OF YOU i appreciate it so much!! y'all are so awesome so! i hope everyone enjoys this chapter! = v=

Abe followed behind Momoe and Shinooka down the hall to the elevator, eyes open but not really processing what they were seeing. His whole body felt tight and uncomfortable, Momoe’s voice running over his ears but not really making an impression as to what it was saying. His eyes blinked at the red numbers passing by in the elevator, and then pushed forward into the hall, into the locker room as stunned as he’d been the moment he’d pinned Mihashi to the floor and felt the stillness of the world around them.

It was only when Abe had both of his legs in his electromyograph suit that he was really conscious of what he was doing, blinking into a locker he didn’t really remember opening at folded clothes he didn’t really remember taking off himself. He pulled the arms of the suit up, slipped first his left hand in, wiggling his fingers through to the glove at the end, and then his right, conscious somehow that there was a missing step in there somehow. He zipped the electromyograph suit up, plucking it into place, and then he turned around (because Mihashi always needed help pulling himself into the suit, he wasn’t used to it yet like Abe was), except there was Tajima, hands on thin hips and eyes wide and impatient on his back.

“Ready?” the tiny pilot asked, finger tapping where his hands were loosely resting on his own custom-fit electromyograph suit. It adhered to every curve of Tajima’s smooth muscles, unlike Abe’s, which was not loose by any means but certainly wasn’t as flattering, for sure.

Abe nodded, hand raising up to fiddle with where the neck of the electromyograph suit hit his throat to tuck the zipper into place. “Yeah, let’s go,” he said, eyes falling to the locker over Tajima’s shoulder where kanji spelled out Mihashi’s name, and when he closed his eyes, he saw the last sight of Mihashi’s huddled form on the floor of the Kwoon Combat Room, whole body shaking with the weight of the sobs running though his whole body. His eyes flew open, terrified the image would sear onto the back of his eyelids, and he looked to Tajima and exhaled another slow breath. Tajima studied him carefully, one eyebrow raising, and then he turned on a sharp heel and started down the hall towards the gear room.

The armor technicians swarmed around, positioning each piece in its place, and securing the spinal clamp with one last click. He stepped forward into the boots, letting them snap over his feet with an old familiarity, and finally the helmet, sliding over his head and filling with relay gel to speed their neural connection. The gel emptied, and Abe blinked into the empty helmet, each breath heavy in his own ears. His hands clenched at his side, and when he looked over to Tajima, he nodded, and they walked out towards the Simulator where Hamada and the rest of LOCCENT was waiting, Momoe standing over the blond’s shoulder with arms crossed and eyes sharp on the instruments before her. 

“Hanai didn’t come?” Tajima asked as soon as they entered the room, and Hamada looked up and around the room, turning back with a shrug. Abe watched as Tajima scowled for a whole three seconds before it disappeared into a grin, flitting over to the Simulation pod with the insatiable energy that made it very easy to believe he was much stronger than his little frame hinted. “Abe, come on, let’s get this party started!”

Abe followed, each step closer to the Simulation pod reminding him of just why he was doing this with Tajima, not Mihashi. A reminder that it didn’t matter what he wanted, what Mihashi wanted, what Tajima wanted - it mattered what Marshal needed, because this wasn’t just a war they were fighting in, it was a struggle for survival. Whatever it took for them to win at the end of the day, whatever plan saved the most lives,  _that_  was what he had to do. Even if it killed him.

“Geez, get the scary look off your face, huh? It’s not like I’m sawing your leg off or anything,” Tajima said as they got into the pod together. “Okay, left or right? I think we’re both lefties usually, but I don’t care either way.” Abe looked at the pod, then to Tajima. His gut feeling was to take the left as Tajima certainly had more experience, but Tajima was also a Blank. Until he was sure just how much communication they could work out, his mind protested at the thought of putting him in control.

“I’ll take the right. I’m not sure if would be smart to have a Blank on that side.” Tajima flashed Abe a thumb’s up, stepping up to the left side of the rig and toeing into place. Abe mirrored the movements on the right side of the pod, waiting for the rig to secure into his armor with the last few tugs on his body. As soon as they stopped, Hamada’s voice came over the intercom.

“Okay, you two. You’re both strapped in and ready. I’ll go ahead and fire up the Simulator,” he said, and Abe raised a hand to press the button that opened the communication line to confirm. He settled back into the rig, forcing his body to relax as all of the systems beeped and blinked into place. Hamada started the countdown to the Neural Handshake, voice slowly counting back from fifteen as all of the machinery hummed around them. Abe closed his eyes, exhaling gently, and then the old familiar pull he hadn’t felt in  _so long_ - 

_(“ - eat Shun’s eggs, Taka!” There was a whap of a rolled up newspaper on the back of his head, but he didn’t care and snagged one last bite while his brother shot him a sulky pout. It was hard to care when this was the round that decided whether or not they’d get seeded next year, decided whether or not he’d take that flyer under his bed seriously, decided whether the tumultuous feeling in his gut would ease up or settle deep inside him and strangle him for the rest of his life - ) ( - was a little uncomfortable, yeah, but not as heavy as he’d expected of catcher's gear. Best of all was the moment he looked up at his father’s face and saw the pride there, not that it was rare, per se, but to have all that attention back on him after it felt like so long since Shun had always taken the spotlight was magnificent and golden - ) ( - searing, screaming pain in his side that almost made him wish he was back in that coma if only to keep from feeling the pain inside and out, the pain that made it take three hours to fill out the transfer form instead of the twenty minutes it probably should have. The pain pills were tempting, so tempting, but he’d seen people get addicted, seen their minds get addled and dependent, and he needed to be in a Jaeger, needed for all of this to be worth it, couldn’t get lost in the fog of false comfort - ) ( - gold, gold, gold, gold, what would it look like if he_ really _smiled - )_

“Neural Handshake complete, Drift is stable,” Hamada said, and Abe blinked at the most peculiar feeling of empty weight in his mind, as if someone was leaning on a wall of plastic that he couldn’t quite see through, just enough to know that they were there. “How are you feeling, boys?” Abe looked over to Tajima, who flashed him a thumb’s up. It was  _weird_ , knowing Tajima was in his brain but not getting anything other than a muted fog from  _him_ , no thoughts, no memories, no name or rank. Drifting, yes, but not with that same connection. Blank.

“We’re fine,” Abe said, reaching up for the comm button. “How are the numbers looking?”

Hamada patched through with a noncommittal hum. “Numbers are pretty solid. Sync rate is hovering around 82%, which is about what it was for Tajima and Mihashi, too.” 

“All my other syncs are about that much,” Tajima said, then, “well, except for Hanai.” About what it had been for him and Haruna too, Abe thought while taking his hand off the comm button, thinking about that glorious split second of ninety-six percent sync he and Mihashi had shared and wondering what it would have felt like if the two of them could have just made it work. He saw Tajima look over at him, knew he felt the stabbing disappointment while they were in the Drift and was more than a little irritated that he couldn’t see through those transparent and yet so annoyingly effusive expressions he had to see what the little pipsqueak was  _really_  thinking - “Hey! Just because I’m short doesn’t mean you get to - !”

“I’ve seen what I need to see for now. Both of you, come on out,” Momoe’s voice suddenly cut in, and Abe felt the pressure in his brain disappear slowly and carefully, as if that person leaning against the plastic straightened and walked away until finally it was just him and his thoughts alone together in his skull again. Tajima took the helmet off his head and shook his hair around, stepping out of the rig once it released him and leading the way over to the door while Abe did the same on his side. Abe followed, standing in front of Momoe with his helmet tucked under his arm.

“Well, I’m relieved to see that it worked,” she said, looking at Abe before turning her gaze to Tajima. Probably more relieved to see he could actually Drift and she hadn’t been wasting her time on him, Abe mentally corrected. “But, I’m still not sure what to do with you. Tajima-kun and Hanai-kun have a much better Drift score, but my scientist is telling me we’re going to be needing two Jaegers sooner than later. We have to weigh the benefit of two machines against the loss of the better connection,” she reported, arms crossing beneath her breasts as her spine straightened to get closer to their level. “For now, get some lunch, and then the two of you go talk to the Psych Analyst. See what he has to say, and once I talk with him, I’ll make my decision. Tajima-kun, you know where his office is, correct?”

“Yep!” Tajima agreed, nodding once. Momoe clapped her hands together once, making a loud sound in the room.

“All right. Off you two go, then. I’ll be in contact, and in the mean time, keep working on that sync score.” Momoe then turned around, and Abe watched as Ai-chan came from beneath Hamada’s desk to follow her master out of the room and into the hall. As soon as the doors were shut, Abe turned and followed Tajima into the gear room to get the armor all removed and tucked away for its next use. The walk through the small hall into the locker room was silent, and it wasn’t until Abe was unzipping his suit that he turned to talk to Tajima just in time to get a fierce pinch that hurt even through the electromyograph suit hanging off his shoulders.

“What the hell - !?”

“Go talk to Oki with Mihashi first,” Tajima said, voice low and hushed in complete compliance with the fact that he was telling Abe to disobey an order. Tajima straightened, unzipping his own suit as he continued. “And get that look off your face like I’m telling you something awful. If Oki says you and Mihashi are no good, call me and I’ll meet you there.” Tajima’s face hardened just enough that Abe could see the difference. “I want to Drift with Hanai. And I know you want to Drift with Mihashi. You and I, we work and all - me and Mihashi, too - but it’s better when we’re with who we want to be with, right?”

“Except it’s not that easy. I already know Mihashi and I are Drift compatible. That’s not the problem,” Abe responded, pulling his arms out of the electromyograph suit. “Unless the Psych Analyst can give us some kind of miracle advice to make our Drift suddenly work, it’s a waste of time that we don’t really have.”

What Abe didn’t expect was Tajima to blink at him like he had two heads. “Who says he can’t?” he said, as if it was obvious. Abe felt himself staring, and Tajima shrugged, picking at his fingers to get them out of his electromyograph suit. “He’s the one who noticed I was a Blank back in the Academy. If it wasn’t for him, I might never have Drifted with Hanai. You shouldn’t doubt someone you haven’t even met, especially when you might get something really good out of it. I mean, you’re  _literally_  dreaming about it - ”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Abe gritted out, pulling his pants on with more force than absolutely necessary because why the hell did this shrimp get to step into  _his_  head and find things to hold over  _him_  when the last thing Abe needed was this little manipulative shit with blackmail over him. Tajima just grinned, hand slapping hard between Abe’s shoulder blades.

“You know, Abe, I might get to like you, after all!” He then laughed obnoxiously, turning around and pulling the rest of his electromyograph suit off to hang it before pulling on a pair of boxers. Abe rolled his eyes, pulling on a shirt and tucking it into his pants before he laced up his boots and left Tajima to hum a cheery little tune to himself as he put his clothes on. 

As he stepped out into the hall, Abe walked over to the elevator, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolling to Mihashi’s name while he waited on the doors to open. The idiot probably wouldn’t even answer, Abe thought sourly, stuffing his phone back in his pocket with not a small amount of irritation. He closed his eyes, trying to think about where he would go if he was Mihashi, but by the time the little bell gave a ding and the doors opened, all Abe decided was that he was definitely not qualified to think about how Mihashi’s rabbit-hole brain worked. The best chance was probably their room, followed by the balcony where Mihashi went to pitch, and after that… well, he’d get to that if he needed to.

Their floor was as quiet as ever when he stepped off the elevator, hands in his pockets as a quiet unease started to coil in his gut at the thought of having to talk Mihashi out of whatever shithole his brain was certainly in at the moment. He gripped his key and opened their door, and when he opened it, he froze at the sight before him.

“What the  _hell_ are you doing?!” he shouted as soon as his shock at the torn-apart state of their room turned to anger, stomping over to where Mihashi was standing next to their table with a box half-filled with clothes and wrenching the shirt out of his hands. Mihashi jolted, stiffening when Abe gripped his collar in his hands and hauled him close. “Just  _who_  the hell said you were leaving,  _huh_?!”

“I, I, I th-th… thought… I thought…!” Mihashi stuttered violently, and Abe felt the cinnamon rage spark through his skin like flash fire. Mihashi shrank in his hold, but Abe pulled him back, almost vibrating with the need to shake him. Feeling the urge, he forcefully unclenched his fingers, shoving away to take the shirt and slam it on their coffee table, shutting the door with a loud clang from where he’d left it open when he’d charged in.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Abe managed through clenched teeth, hand resting on the door as he closed his eyes and fought to breathe and control the tempestuous fury inside of him. Yelling at Mihashi wouldn’t do any good, and it wasn’t what he wanted to do, he reminded himself. He lightly bumped his forehead against the doorframe, straightening his spine and turning around to see Mihashi’s expression melt from the shock into something awful and twisted, a decidedly miserable curl of his lips matched with puffy red eyes and splotchy skin. An expression that had Abe’s stomach sinking horribly, an expression he never wanted to see on anyone but least of all his partner.

“I thought… since I w-wasn’t…” Mihashi tried, voice tiny and barely audible, and he flinched when Abe stepped closer, an unconscious action that almost had Abe seeing red again, but not at Mihashi this time. “I thought…!”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Abe repeated, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he concentrated on keeping his voice even and low, the closest thing he could get to a normal tone with this amount of frustration and anger boiling so close beneath the surface. “Nothing’s official yet, and even if it  _was_  - ” Abe cut himself off on a short, sharp breath and a heartbeat of silence to reorient himself. “We don’t have time for this. Tajima gave us this chance and we’re gonna take it.” Mihashi made a confused babbling noise, hands useless in the air in front of his chest as Abe kept going. “Come on. Let’s go get some lunch, and then we can talk.”

“B-but - !”

“Lunch! And then we talk!” Abe repeated, glancing down at his watch as Mihashi jerkily looked from his half-filled box to the room that was in disarray from where he’d been packing to move out, then to the door, which he at first slowly approached as if unsure, looking over his shoulder to Abe, and then finally opened when he apparently saw some kind of encouragement or permission. 

Mihashi led the way to the elevator after Abe closed their door and locked it behind him, hazel eyes darting around like an animal in a cage, from Abe’s chest to the walls to the lights, all around. It reminded him of their earlier stage when Mihashi had to fight himself to meet his eyes, and that thought had his fingers curling in on themselves. But then he forced them to relax, forced _himself_ to relax, forced himself to consider that perhaps it wasn’t a complete step backwards, that perhaps this was just a step from an unhealthy partnership to a better one that they could build together instead. He  _had_  to believe that.

The trek to the cafeteria was almost as painful as the burning scars on his side had been, all silence and stiff movements and desperately trying to plan imaginary pitch calls to keep from snapping something that would have Mihashi even more on edge than he already was. It was a blessing when the doors slid open and they entered the line, if only for the ambient noise and the people filling the aching void of silence in his head that was dangerously buzzing without them. 

When Abe had food and a bottle of water, he saw Mihashi’s eyes dart around for a place for them to sit, and he saw the exact moment the blond found someone with the way he lit up just a tiny bit. Abe followed his gaze and saw Suyama and Sakaeguchi sitting next to each other at a table, and he swallowed past the thought that it would probably be easier to talk to Mihashi if Sakaeguchi was there to mediate because no,  _no_ , this was a conversation  _they_  needed to have. Just the two of them.

“Mihashi!” Abe barked, reaching over and lightly grabbing the blond’s elbow so he didn’t jerk suddenly and dump his tray of food. Hazel eyes met his own, and Abe jerked his head, gesturing for Mihashi to follow him. Abe then turned and started walking, taking the two trays of food over to the elevator, which filled with the smell of cafeteria food and the oppressive confused silence Mihashi obviously felt when he pressed to go to a floor that wasn’t theirs. Abe bit his tongue, staring hard at the red numbers as they passed, and when the elevator came to a stop, he led the way, down the hall to a small staircase, and then up and around until they were on a breezeway in the Shatterdome, overlooking the giant room, and the sight Abe had particularly wanted - Big Windup, docked and ready for its pilots to be announced so the tarp covering up the team insignia could finally be removed.

Abe sat down, feet hanging over the edge as he put his tray next to him. He looked up to where Mihashi was still lingering, then patted the floor next to him. Mihashi scrambled to sit down, sitting cross-legged with his tray in his lap, eyes darting from Big Windup to the food, and occasionally, to Abe. Abe sighed, picking up his sandwich and taking a thoughtful bite as he tried to think of what to say, what  _could_  be said, and not for the first time feeling frustration at the fact that he couldn’t just Drift and not have to say anything at all, especially when between him and Mihashi, words were so godamned difficult.

“I Drifted with Tajima this morning,” he started, wondering perhaps if the way Mihashi’s shoulders tightened in the corner of his eye if that wasn’t quite the right way to start the conversation. He pressed forward. “Apparently, our numbers were the same as yours, so Marshal isn’t quite sure what she’s going to do just yet.”

At that, Mihashi’s shoulders came up to his ears. “You heard…?” he said, and Abe sighed tiredly.

“Sakaeguchi told me a few days ago that you and Tajima were Drifting,” he admitted, a strange weight relieved to tell Mihashi he knew only to have it replaced with a different sinking feeling at how obviously guilty Mihashi felt. “I’m… not mad, not anymore, really,” Abe admitted, taking a careful bite at the sandwich.

“I - ! I didn’t mean to… I was just… I asked Tajima-kun to help… help me in the K-Kwoon Combat Room, s-so I could… so I could beat you,” Mihashi said, speaking in broken attempts to console and explain that were almost charming with how vehement and yet borderline incoherent they were. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t want it to go that far, but… I didn’t want to say no, when, when Tajima-kun said we could do it, and I thought… I thought it might help me learn how, so I…” 

Abe made a soft sound in the back of his throat, twisting open the bottle of water and taking a sip. He looked over at Big Windup, down at the people walking around the Shatterdome floor, the materials transporting over to Striker Cleanup where it was still being carefully repaired after its last contact with Blue Sprinter. And then, Abe was listening, because Mihashi’s soft little stunted voice was still going, babbling to get to what he was  _really_  trying to say, and Abe wondered if he left the blond to talk, if eventually he’d start to make sense.

“…a few times, although Tajima-kun never really fell out like, like you did, um. But we did it, finally, and… it was weird?” Mihashi blinked over at Abe, who looked back at him and realized Mihashi was waiting for input.

“Weird? Well, it’s the first time you’ve Drifted, so it’s probably weird no matter what, but yeah, it felt weird for me, too,” Abe agreed, remembering the emptiness of the Drift that was as much in his brain as it wasn’t.

Mihashi nodded rapidly, cheeks full of food as he took a bite and chewed quickly to keep talking in his excitement. “Yeah, it was nothing like it is with you, Abe-kun. It was… lots of memories? All at once? Like what it said in the Academy, how it should be. Instead of ours, with, with the one memory, and - and! I didn’t want to run away, either, and - ”

“‘Run away’?” Abe repeated, looking over to Mihashi and staring at him while Mihashi stared back at him, mouth full of food and eyes wide with innocence. “What do you mean, ‘run away’?”

He stared at Abe little longer, then swallowed his food, leaning around in a circle as he thought. “Um, you know, th-the last time, when I… It was scary, I guess, because I wanted… uh… Needed? To run away. Um.” Mihashi blinked in confusion, as if the thought suddenly didn’t make any sense to him either, and he looked to Abe, who was equally suddenly not hungry at all. “Be…cause… It was scary…? Or, um, because… Because…”

“Because why, Mihashi,” Abe pushed, fingertips tingling a bit, perhaps from the fact that he was pretty sure he wasn’t breathing. “Why did you want to run away?”

“Because it wouldn’t work, because… because I messed up,” Mihashi said, slowly, frowning, eyes falling down to his hands as his voice hushed even more out of confusion and hesitation. “Because… Haruna-san…?”

As soon as the name that passed Mihashi’s lips, the tiny thread keeping Abe together snapped. His hand snatched out, hand clenching tightly in Mihashi’s shirt at his shoulder. “You  _idiot!”_

“Wh- wha - ?” Mihashi blubbered, and this time, Abe really  _did_  shake him.

“You  _moron_! You  _fucking_  moron you - of  _course_  you wouldn’t know, but - I can’t be _lieve_  you,  _you_  - !”

“A-A-Abe-kun - ?!”

“ _Idiot!_  You were - ! You were  _in my head_ , Mihashi!” Abe snapped, hands reaching up to clasp Mihashi’s cheeks, staring into wide, shocked eyes with his own. His heart was pounding so fast he was dizzy, hands shaking with the sheer emotion pumping in his veins. “ _You were in my head!_ You were in  _my_  head while I was in  _yours_ , we were  _Drifting_ , really Drifting, not this - this  _bullshit_  we’ve been doing, but a  _real_ …!”

“Bwuhh?” Mihashi responded, and then he stiffened, spine turning into a rod as he stared unblinking into Abe’s face, eyes tracing all of his features as if he’d never seen them before. “W-wait, that was… That wasn’t…?”

“It wasn’t you wanting to run away, it was… it was me,” Abe said, hands now definitely trembling as his voice hushed. “When I left Musashino. I was thinking about it, when I was falling out of the Drift, so you - that last split second, you…” And then, another thought, something he had noticed but not consciously. “That’s how you knew Haruna was my pitcher in middle school. I never mentioned it, but you knew. In the hall, you said Haruna was my pitcher, but you couldn’t have  _possibly_ …” He was talking more to himself, eyes studying each golden streak of awe in Mihashi’s gaze. “You couldn’t have possibly known that unless you’d been inside my head.”

“I… I was…” Mihashi repeated carefully, and Abe watched as Mihashi’s eyes slowly started to sparkle with the welling tears. “I was in Abe-kun’s head…? We were…?”

“Yeah, we were doing it. We were Drifting, Mihashi.” Abe’s voice was calm and soft, but even still it was enough to break the careful dam holding Mihashi’s sobs back. Abe watched as Mihashi’s face contorted into tears, felt the moment he leaned forward and buried his face in Abe’s shoulder, hands reaching around to clench at Abe’s shoulder blades like a lifeline. Abe clutched him back, feeling his own eyes heat with the promise of tears, with the incredible feeling that he’d finally found Mihashi halfway, even if only for a split second. He held Mihashi tight, felt his brows furrow, let the blond sob himself out as his own fingers weaved into Mihashi’s hair in what was half comfort and half solidarity.

But their moment couldn’t last forever, and a glint of light had the crystal on Abe’s watch catching his eye. It had only been precious few moments of quivering realization, but they didn’t have enough time to let the feeling settle into contentment. “Mihashi,” Abe prompted, using his grip on Mihashi’s hair to pull him back a bit, staring into bleary eyes and watching as Mihashi sniffled his happy sobs back inside. “Where’s the Psych Analyst’s office? Some guy named Oki? We need to go talk to him.”

“Oh, O-Oki…. Oki-san…” Mihashi mouthed around those diamond lips as his fingers came to clench in his shirt. “Oki-san is… His office is… up…” 

“Do you know where it is?” Abe asked, speaking since Mihashi was clearly incapable of making any sense in his state, and the blond nodded, jaw clenching shut with the same realization. “Come on, lead the way. I’ll explain on the way.” Mihashi nodded again, blinking rapidly as he stood from where he’d buried himself in Abe’s personal space with the kind of excited vigor Abe hadn’t seen in the blond since before their disastrous last Drift attempt. 

“Trays, trays in the - !” Mihashi said, grabbing his and reaching with wiggling fingers for Abe’s. Huffing out a laugh, Abe passed on his food and watched as Mihashi dropped them off very carefully in the bin at the end of the hall for collection later. Then the blond turned, bouncing on his toes as he waited for Abe to catch up. He was like a little hummingbird like this, Abe thought, watching the blond flit over to the staircase and turn around with wide, excited eyes and hands clenched into bobbing, excited fists in front of him. “Abe-kun!”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Abe said, and by the time he made it down to the elevator, he was sure Mihashi was about to take flight to the Psych Analyst’s office by himself if Abe wasn’t careful. But, it was a much happier quiet than the one earlier, one filled with an electric excitement that was coming off Mihashi in waves so strong Abe was pretty sure he could see them. He felt them in himself, too, but until the softness of the Jaeger jacket was beneath his hands, his and Mihashi’s team logo embroidered on the back, he wasn’t going to let the twisting in his gut cinch shut.

Once they were on the proper floor, high up in the upper reaches of the Nishiura base, Mihashi sped off down the hall, past classrooms and small combat rooms, all with notification sheets on bulletin boards of upcoming tests and possibilities for study groups. The floor where the recruits became Rangers, Abe realized, passing by a diagram of one of the earliest Mark II Jaegers pinned for study. 

They turned down enough halls that Abe was pretty sure he would have gotten lost without Mihashi, enough that he was starting to wonder if  _Mihashi_  was lost, until the blond came to a stop outside an office door that had a nameplate ‘Oki Kazutoshi’ on the side, as well as a schedule of classroom time and office hours. 

“I came here a lot… before,” Mihashi said, lifting a hand to knock. “Um, before… before Abe-kun…” 

Begging to learn how to Drift, no doubt, Abe mused as Mihashi brought his knuckles on the door. The Psych Analyst would be the one person in the entire base he could turn to for help, with the second choice perhaps being Shiga-sensei and Marshal Momoe herself. Other Jaeger pilot candidates would have been too competitive to help, and Tajima and Hanai too busy getting their own Drifting to perfection to help someone who looked like he would never be a pilot.

“Come in,” a muffled voice said from inside, and Mihashi turned the doorknob, stepping in and sticking his head in. “Mihashi! Welcome, come on in!” 

Abe followed behind as Mihashi stepped inside the office, noticing that the overhead light was off and the room was lit with several lamps instead. There was a small bookshelf of books, a medium-sized desk, and to the side, two neutral couches sitting across from one another with a coffee table in the middle over a beige rug. The walls were decorated with beautiful calligraphy of different virtues, including one large one over the far wall that looked like a poem of some sort. There was a slight smell of that ink, and the edge of toasted coffee. It looked about what he’d expected of a therapist’s office, and a Psych Analyst wasn’t too different from that, he supposed.

“And this must be Abe Takaya,” Oki said, standing from his desk with a friendly smile. “I’m glad to meet you, finally!”

“Oh, yes, you too,” Abe agreed, knowing that there were at least a few people that probably didn’t have the best opinion about him who could be this vine Oki used. “We were wondering if we could talk to you about our issues with Drifting, Oki-sensei.”

“Just Oki’s fine. You two aren’t students,” Oki said, sitting back down at his desk and opening a drawer. “I heard from Marshal Momoe about your situation, and I think I might be able to help, a little.” He pulled out two little booklets with colorful fronts, and grabbed two pens. “These are two personality tests to help me see if I can find any patterns in your thought process. Don’t think too much about your answers, just whatever comes first.”

It was just like their first week in Jaeger Academy, Abe thought grimly, taking the test and the pen both. Having come in without a partner, he’d been paired by matrix with another candidate, then rotated around until he’d had the misfortune of being paired with Haruna. Well, he thought grudgingly, perhaps it had been fortunate after all, as he and Haruna had ended up Drift compatible and graduating out. It was a different test though, and Abe looked to see that Oki himself had apparently written the questions. 

Within about fifteen minutes, he clicked his pen and then brought his test back to Oki. Mihashi followed, handing it to him as well. “Perfect, thanks. Okay, you two can go help yourselves to a cup of coffee or something while I take a look at these.” Oki gestured to the far side of his office, on the other side of the couches, where there was a little coffee station set up. Abe hesitated, not really sure if he wanted one, but Mihashi rocketed right over and he followed, knowing that if he smelled it he would probably change his mind.

“Which one does Abe-kun…?” Mihashi asked, opening the drawer of little cups and poking around. He himself pulled out a light blue one, and Abe looked to see that it was a medium brew. 

“Are there any dark ones?” he asked, digging around with his finger as Mihashi did the same. He found one, plucking it out. “Here, you do yours first.” Mihashi put his cup in and closed the coffee machine, grabbing one of the disposable cups and putting it under where the stream would come out. They waited, and in few seconds, the coffee machine started trickling out. Mihashi hovered over it, blinking into the steam, then grabbing his cup and stepping to the side. Abe did the same thing, watching as Mihashi put in two heaping spoons of creamer and one, two, three - “Mihashi,” Abe said in disbelief when Mihashi started reaching for a fourth spoon of sugar, causing the blond to freeze, spoonful of sugar hovering in midair over his cup. Their eyes met, and then Abe watched as Mihashi defiantly tipped the spoon, putting the fourth spoonful in as well. “How the heck are you so thin?” Abe grumbled, taking his own coffee now that it was through brewing and putting just one spoon of sugar and cream, both.

Abe led the way back over to the couches, taking a seat and sipping at his coffee while Mihashi did the same next to him, blowing out on it and then taking a pleased sip. He felt the sweetness on his own tongue at the very thought of  _four_  spoons of sugar in a cup of coffee, and he felt his face pull just at the thought. Mihashi chirped happily though, still holding over that buzz from their earlier discussion, most likely, and Abe sighed through the steam, figuring that whatever made Mihashi happy should probably make him happy too.

“All right, all done,” Oki said, walking over within a few moments to sit across from them. Abe lifted an eyebrow when he noticed that he came empty handed.

“The tests…?” 

“Oh, those are bogus,” Oki said cheerfully. “The real test was the coffee machine.” 

“Huh?!” Abe protested, looking at Mihashi to see the blond looking as surprised as he felt. “How is that - ?”

“There are tests for whether someone is Drift compatible, but for the kind of problem you’re having, something like this is better for me to see what’s going on,” Oki said, taking a pen out and fiddling with it between his fingers. “So, talk to me about what you think are the problems, and we’ll go from there.”

“Well, whenever we try to Drift, there’s no neural handshake,” Abe started. “I always just fell into one of Mihashi’s memories, and he relived them while I was watching. Then, after a second or maybe two, I’d fall out of Drift. This last time, I fell out hard enough to jerk and get a concussion.” 

“B-But, we…! We Drifted!” Mihashi said, eyes wide and lips pressing into the side of his cup while he stared at Abe eagerly.

“Yeah, there was at least enough of a Drift for Mihashi to get my last few thoughts, this last time,” Abe agreed. “He didn’t know it at the time, but he’s never Drifted before besides Tajima, who’s a Blank, so…”

“Okay, so you two can Drift, but there’s an immediate connection, no neural handshake, straight into a R.A.B.I.T., save for this last time, which had maybe a split second of a legitimate Drift?” Oki summarized, and Abe nodded, sipping at his coffee while Oki wrote down the notes carefully in handwriting a lot nicer than Abe himself would ever,  _ever_  have expected out of a lefty. “What are the numbers?”

“The first time it was too fast to tell, but Hamada said that we tend to fly around ninety six or ninety seven percent,” Abe answered, watching as Oki’s eyebrows shot up while he wrote down the answer. 

“That’s… impressive,” Oki said. “Well, I’m not really sure if there’s anything I can tell you right now that would change anything immediate, but if the last time had a bit of a legitimate Drift, I’d say to try to Drift again this afternoon. You two are definitely, absolutely compatible, so I think that with just a little practice, we can make it work.” Oki’s tone was as soothing as his words, and Abe felt himself exhale into a more relaxed posture slightly. “Right away, I think my first advice is to work on the balance between you two. Especially if there’s no neural handshake, matching the load between you two is going to be difficult. Find tasks that require two people and do them together, and I think you’ll see a marked improvement.” Oki then looked to Mihashi. “Have you talked to Shiga-sensei about it? He’s also very-well researched into Drift Science.”

“Y-yeah, he said… hold hands, and pitch, and… to Drift, lots!” Mihashi responded. Oki nodded down at his notes.

“Pitching definitely, as that requires two people. As for the holding hands, I… I’m not really sure what he’s doing there,” Oki admitted, laughing nervously and then turning his attention to Abe. “Did  _you_  talk to him?”

“Uh, no, not about this, recently. Oh, and Marshal Momoe said she was going to come talk to you about me and Tajima, but… I’d really rather it be Mihashi, if we can make it work,” Abe said, and Oki closed his pen with a click in the room.

“Talk to Shiga-sensei, see if you can’t see what he’s talking about with the hand holding, definitely do pitching, and let me see if I can find some other things that might help. I’ll talk to Marshal Momoe and tell her my thoughts. Also, if Mihashi has Drifted with Tajima, you should talk to him, too. See if he has anything to say.” Abe barely bit back the groan, while Mihashi nodded vigorously next to him. “Any other questions?”

Mihashi shook his head, and Abe did as well, so Oki stood, prompting them into doing the same. Abe shook Oki’s hand and then left, standing out in the hall as Mihashi waved goodbye and then clutched his coffee cup in both his hands, walking up to Abe with wide eyes. Abe reached down into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, scrolling through until he found Shiga-sensei’s phone number. He held it up to his ear, feeling Mihashi practically breathe on the back of his neck while he listened to the phone ring, until he hung up with a hiss of frustration when the voicemail picked up. “No good?” Mihashi murmured into his coffee, and Abe shook his head.

“He’s probably talking with Momoe about what to do with us,” Abe said, running his thumb over the number pad anxiously. He stared down the hall, mind racking for exactly where he could kick down a door to their meeting when there was a light tug on his sleeve. He turned, seeing Mihashi looking up at him sheepishly. “What?”

“If…! If it’s okay, we should… you and me should…! Try it! Drifting… that is, we should try to… I’ll see if I can do it like I did with Tajima-kun, now that I know how it feels… sort of…” Mihashi maintained Abe’s gaze fiercely, though with the cup of what was basically sugar water in his hands, Abe didn’t find it too effective.

“Yeah, sure. Definitely. Let’s go,” Abe said, then, “You lead the way. I have no idea how the hell to get back to the elevator from here.”

Mihashi chirped an affirmative noise and did just that, both of them finishing their coffee by the time they managed to make it through the rat maze to the elevator doors and throwing their cups away in the trash can by the hall. They descended down to the floor with the Jaeger Simulator. As they walked past, Abe opened the door, exhaling in relief when Hamada was standing at the controls. 

“Hamada - “ “Hama-chan, we’re! - !”

Abe blinked down at Mihashi when the blond peered beneath where his arm was holding open the door, speaking in his excitement. Hamada looked up, then burst into laughter at the sight. He walked up, looking first at Mihashi, then to Abe, and finally back down to Mihashi once more. “You two gonna give it a try?” he asked, and Mihashi’s head about rolled off his shoulders with how hard he was nodding. With one last stare at Abe, Hamada nodded. “All right. Go on and get suited up, and we’ll get it humming.” 

Mihashi sprang down the hall to the locker room, stripping down to his boxers before he paused, hopping around on the one leg in his electromyograph suit. “A-Abe-kun, we have to… hold hands,” he reminded, and Abe paused in where he was about to slip his other hand in the sleeve, realizing that this was exactly what had felt like it was missing earlier when he’d been in this very room with Tajima. He bit back the smile as he pulled out his phone, setting the alarm for five minutes while Mihashi pressed his palm against his eagerly. It was warm.

“Ready?” Abe asked, and Mihashi nodded, closing his eyes. Abe pressed the button for the timer, then also closed his eyes, taking in the feeling of Mihashi’s skin where it touched his own, each callous from pitching still as fresh as if the blond had been in a game yesterday. He resisted the urge to trace over them with his fingers to see if the callouses matched up with all the different pitches he knew Mihashi could throw, and instead focused on the fact that their palms were almost exactly the same temperature. Usually, Mihashi’s was so cold against his, but even as he thought how nice it was to have their hands both warm, Mihashi’s got even warmer, and the alarm went off. 

Abe opened his eyes, gripping Mihashi’s hand tightly in his own. “Let’s do it, okay? Let’s really go do it.”

“Yeah!” Mihashi chirped back, and the both of them finished pulling on their electromyograph suits, Abe zipping up before reaching over to help Mihashi tug his collar into place. Then, they walked side by side down the hall into the gear room, where their armor was drilled into place, boots were stepped into, and helmets went on, relay gel oozing into place before draining out and leaving Abe blinking into Mihashi’s bright, hopeful eyes.

When they walked out into the Simulator room, Hamada was already sitting down at the command station, and the doors to the Jaeger Simulator were open. Abe walked inside, taking the left and watching as Mihashi took to the right. He stepped into place, boots clicking in their slots and the rig drilling into his suit to keep him in alignment. The doors shut, and the pod came to life, systems coming on with green lights and announcing their status to go. Abe checked over all of the ones on his side, knowing Mihashi was carefully going through the same protocol on the right, until finally their eyes met in the middle.

“You two ready to go?” Hamada asked, and Mihashi reached up to press the comm button.

“We’re ready, Hama-chan!” he said, and then Hamada’s voice filled the comm as he counted back from fifteen, the feminine recording announcing the beginning of the neural handshake Abe knew wasn’t coming, his exhale to get relaxed as his eyes closed, not reaching out, waiting for Mihashi to reach to him - 

(and it feels weird, in his head, he knows it’s a memory because he’s way too old to be in middle school pulling on his catcher’s gear, he knows it’s a memory but it feels real,  _(Abe-kun, Abe-kun)_ looking into a mirror and wondering if he’ll make it through today’s practice catching for Haruna [Haruna, the source of all his troubles, Haruna with the annoyingly perfect hair and the cocky grin that was as delightful as it was rare, Haruna his pitcher, Haruna the king of the fastball, Haruna the pitcher who shakes off his signs, who’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to him but sometimes when that hand rests on his head and those lips curl around a compliment it’s hard to remember that] without another bruise,  _(Abe-kun, Abe-kun, Abe-kun)_ or if he’ll sink into the bath that night and hiss out as the heat touched another purpling stitched reminder of the fact that he wasn’t good enough for Haruna [Haruna Haruna Haruna] as he was now  _(but you_ are _, Abe-kun, Abe-kun is amazing, Abe-kun)_ , he had to work hard enough to - )

And then the memory cut off, leaving Abe to open his eyes and look over to see Mihashi barely managing to stand in his place in the rig. But then, Mihashi looked up, their gazes locked, and Abe blinked slowly as he realized that yes, they’d fallen out of the Drift, but they were both standing up, and more importantly - 

“I heard you,” Abe said, voice tinged with a touch of awe because that’s what it felt like, like something awesome had just occurred, and when Mihashi opened his mouth and said his name again, just like that, (“Abe-kun…”) he knew  _that_  wasn’t a memory. “Mihashi, I  _heard_ you _._ You were in my head.” Mihashi’s eyes were wide and trained on his own, and even through their helmets he knew that Mihashi was probably feeling the same incredible weightlessness he was feeling right now, because he’d felt it in the Drift, felt the thought as if it were his own but knowing it didn’t come from him.

Before he could bottle up all of the things running rampant in his chest to examine later, Hamada’s voice came crackling over the intercom, and through the open comm link Abe could hear the happiness in his voice. “That was great, you two! Six seconds of Drifting at ninety seven percent! How are you feeling?”

“Mihashi, let’s try it again,” Abe said, the excitement of having succeeded boiling in his gut and spilling over like champagne, but he felt those happy feelings die a bit when Mihashi shook his head and pressed the button. 

“We’re okay, but we’re going to quit, Hama-chan,” Mihashi said, and Hamada confirmed, unlocking the rig from them. Just as Abe opened his mouth to snap, Mihashi’s eyes glanced over at him like a blade and cut him thin. “You just had a week of rest from the concussion, so… We should be careful. And rest lots, so we don’t…”

Abe took off his helmet, staring at Mihashi while the blond did the same, that same quiet defiance he’d shown when he’d put the fourth spoon of sugar in his coffee and then Abe exhaled, reaching over and ruffling Mihashi’s hair beneath his palm. “Yeah, you’re right. One step at a time. If we try to go too fast, we’ll just trip up. Besides, we’ve got to go unpack your stuff back into place, right?” At that, Mihashi smiled that little half-smile he gave, cheeks burning pink with happiness as he nodded. “All right. Let’s go do that, and then let’s go to the commissary and pick up some groceries. I want to make dinner with you tonight.”

“Okay!” Mihashi chirped, leaving Abe behind as he flitted off to get the armor taken off and once again reminding him of a little bird. With a fond shake of his head, Abe went to follow.

 


	14. walk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a little bit of a slow chapter. but it's the prelude to a nice storm coming, so enjoy it while it lasts. fufufufu
> 
> fanart!!!! still screaming at this one because it's one of my favorite scenes Of All Time and it exists in Art Form and i will Forever Die
> 
>  
> 
> [seasaltinecrackers - the abemiha hug from chap 13. pleased groan](http://seasaltinecrackers.tumblr.com/post/108324594510/warm-up-pacrim-oofuri-thing-cause-it-makes-me-sad)
> 
>  
> 
> ok so, thanks for all the feedback and support as always, and i hope you enjoy!!

By the time the elevator doors opened and Izumi was staring down the well-lit halls of the science ward, he was pretty sure he was already halfway into a sweaty nervous mess. It didn’t even help that these floors were whiter than the others, painted more carefully and with actual doors instead of the military-grade metal clangers the rest of the base used. (To keep the floor quiet for patients, he’d guessed before, but now, he was quite sure it was a conspiracy to remind him of every nightmare he’d ever had regarding bad doctors.)

But he stepped forward, because this time, he was absolutely  _determined_  he would deliver the coffee still hot.

Well, warm, he corrected, blinking down at the two cups of coffee that were still steaming but definitely not as much as they should be. Groaning in his annoyance (and embarrassment, he grudgingly labelled), he walked as quickly as he could down the halls. The  _correct_  way, this time, turning left even though his gut screamed to turn right, and then just the opposite past the huge automatic doors. Sure enough, it was a minute before he was standing in front of a familiar door with Nishihiro Shintaro’s name on a plate next to it, and a long, long alphabetized list of his duties on the base beneath them. Half of them Izumi was quite convinced he’d just made up.

“Yo, I brought your - oh, good morning, Marshal,” Izumi said with a quickly changing tone, freezing in place and sloshing (warm) coffee over his hand in the suddenness of the move. Next to her, Nishihiro put a hand over his mouth to hide what was no doubt a dorky laugh. Izumi scowled at him, extending his hand that had the non-sloshed coffee and offering it to him. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“No, not at all,” Momoe said pleasantly, just as Nishihiro took the coffee with a smile and a ‘thank you’. Izumi grabbed some tissues off Nishihiro’s desk, dabbing at the mess on his hands and trying his best to look irritated when the little pleased expression on Nishihiro’s face was visible in the corner of his eyes.

“Oh, it’s warm this time!” Nishihiro said, and then Izumi no longer had to pretend to be irritated.

“I told you I got lost last time,” he defended shortly, finally sipping his own coffee. Yeah, it was warm, and probably a little less sweet than Nishihiro’s, who apparently liked to drink something almost too sweet to be palatable. It wasn’t hot, but definitely not the cold borderline-sludge he’d brought up last time. Satisfied for now, he looked to Momoe. “If I’d known you were going to be here, I’d have brought you a cup. Sorry, Marshal.”

“No, it’s just fine, Izumi-kun. In fact, this is a conversation you might benefit from hearing as well,” she said, crossing her arms firmly beneath her breasts. “Nishihiro-kun was just in the middle of his weekly update for his research on the breach.”

“Oh, sweet,” Izumi said, sitting down in one of Nishihiro's marginally comfortable chairs and leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. “Okay, Nishihiro-sensei, let’s hear it.” 

Nishihiro raised an eyebrow over his coffee cup, but walked over to the white board he’d been standing next to when Izumi had burst through the doorway, gesturing at a lot of numbers and diagrams. Izumi scoured them, but nothing really made any sense at all. Even tilting his head to the side didn’t help.

“So, as I was saying, as far as I can make out, there’s no real discernible pattern for when the Kaiju are going to come out of the breach, or where they go after they do emerge, save for the population threshold we talked about last time.” Nishihiro sighed, tapping his foot in thought, and for the first time, Izumi noticed he was wearing not shoes, but fuzzy slippers. His resulting gulp of coffee, had it been hot and not warm, would have been painful. 

“None at all?” Momoe said, and Nishihiro shook his head, wrapping his free arm around his chest and sipping thoughtfully at his coffee. 

“Not in regards to time or date or anything like that. I’ve started looking into weather patterns and ocean currents and nautical traffic to see if maybe there’s some kind of spatial upset that triggers a release, but I’m… not too optimistic about it,” Nishihiro said, frowning. “For the purposes of planning, I’m pretty secure in telling you that the emergence of the Kaiju is random, and there’s no way for us to plan when or where they’re hitting next. I’m sorry, Marshal.”

“Ah, it’s fine, Nishihiro-kun. You’re trying your best, and I appreciate it. Keep prodding, and let me know if there’s anything you can find out. In the meantime, I’ll see you next week. Oh, and Izumi-kun,” Momoe said as she started out of the room, hand on the doorway, “I like my coffee black.”

As the door shut behind her and her obnoxious laughter, Izumi felt the grimace on his face. “Yeah, black like your soul,” he mumbled before looking over at where Nishihiro was still apparently fretting over the result of his meeting. “Hey, you don’t need to apologize, you know. For that, at least.”

“I will if it turns out there  _is_  a pattern and I’m just not seeing it,” Nishihiro responded, tapping his slippered foot more quickly before he twisted around to meet Izumi’s gaze with a smile. “Thanks for the coffee, by the way. It was almost perfect this time.”

“You’re a bastard, you know that?” Izumi grunted, sinking into his chair and propping his feet up on the table in front of him after carefully nudging the thick textbooks out of his way. He grabbed one and flipped through it, making a face. Half of the book was practically in Greek, from the looks of all the formulas, and the other half might as well have been. He let the book flop on the table, then exhaled heavily into the room.

“It must be hard, though. Always having to be ready for a Kaiju attack. Never knowing when they’re going to come. If I could find a pattern, it would make your job a lot easier.” Izumi looked up from the textbook to see Nishihiro’s back, relaxing a bit as he turned around and started to walk to sit in the chair across from where Izumi was sitting. 

Izumi let one of his shoulders shrug in response. “Nah, it’s all good with me. I’m in a very happy marriage with my job. On that path to the golden years and all that.” Nishihiro’s laughter was both reward and an understanding as he himself was very much the same. Izumi stared down into his coffee, at the bare hint of his reflection he couldn’t quite see for the touch of milk he’d added, wondered if he looked as tired as he felt. “In any case, those idiot pilots need to hurry up and get their shit figured out. My performance report is due in two weeks, and at this rate, they’re going to pull Big Windup and send it to another base.”

There was a tense silence in the office, and when Izumi looked to Nishihiro, he saw a strained expression. “You’d go with it, of course…?” 

“Yep. No one knows her like I do,” Izumi said. “Every screw was put into place with my permission. All the Mark IV’s are like that. Since they’re all so different, unlike the Mark I’s and Mark II’s. All four have their own specialized mechanics, since the Mark III Repair Commission was such a huge and embarrassing failure.” Izumi’s lips pulled into a wry smile. “All good, though. I never liked that son of a bitch before they fired him anyway.”

“I thought there was only one Mark IV,” Nishihiro said, and Izumi shook his head, running the pad of his thumb over where his mouth had been touching the side of the coffee mug. 

“No, there’s four. Big Windup and Vorpal Ace both came to Japan. Nishiura since it’s been growing so nicely under Marshal Momoe, and Touri, since it’s the strongest base north of Hong Kong this side of the breach. The third, Numera Pacem, stayed behind in Alaska. They’ve got an ace team there that’s been doing really well, plus they’re good for tests into Drifting and whatnot. Twins, and real assholes, if you ask my opinion. Americans,” he grumbled into a slow sip of cooling coffee. “The last one went to Australia, Silver Runner. One of the fastest we’ve ever built, and with good need. Usually the Kaiju that head down there are speedy speedy.” 

Nishihiro shifted in his chair. “Where would you go, if you leave?”

Izumi threw back the last of his coffee in a huge gulp. “No idea. Maybe Hong Kong, since it’s growing nicely. Maybe back to Alaska, since I can speak English and those idiots can’t learn another language to save their lives. Maybe down to Touri, or up to Musashino. But,” he trailed off, looking to Nishihiro and then down to those physics textbooks that were half-written in Greek, “I’d like to stay here, preferably. I’m finally getting used to the timezones, after all.”

“The timezones for Musashino and Touri are the same as they are here,” Nishihiro said, smiling into his coffee, and Izumi felt the red heat spike on his neck and ears. 

“You’re a real charmer, you know that, Nishihiro?” Izumi sarcastically bit in his embarrassment, tapping a nervous finger on his coffee mug before he stood from the creaky chair the moment he saw Nishihiro peer into an empty cup. “All right. I should get back to work, then. Maybe next time the elevator will be nice and I’ll have hot coffee for you instead.”

“I won’t hold my breath. And I think you shouldn’t be allowed to leave until you can make some decent coffee,” Nishihiro teased one last time.

“Excuse you, I make  _great_  coffee!” Izumi snapped, and Nishihiro’s laughter followed him all the way out to where he stomped into the hallway, teeth gritting and an inexplicably excited annoyance pounding in his chest. Two weeks, he thought, pace slowing down until he was approaching the elevators with what probably looked like a calm demeanor. Two weeks until his report was due. Two weeks for Big Windup’s - and his - fate to be decided.

His hand hovering in mid air over the button to call the elevator back up to the Shatterdome, he hesitated for two heartbeats, then adjusted the trajectory and hit the other button instead.

\----------

The elevator ride up to Shiga’s office filled Abe’s stomach with a sort of quiet excitement; his brain was a little hesitant to think too much about the possibility of making a great amount of headway but he also so very, very aware of the fact that this was completely different from the last time he’d spoken to the man about their Drifting. For one, Mihashi had the experience himself now, and could describe his half as much as Abe could describe his (…well, perhaps that was a little ambitious, Abe backtracked, thinking to all of the painful times he’d fought to get Mihashi to use words to talk to  _him_ ). 

Second, they’d already Drifted.  _Twice_. This was no longer ‘how do we Drift’ but ‘how do we Drift  _better_ ’, and the difference was… electrifying. 

The elevator doors opened and Abe watched as Mihashi stepped out first, still obviously high off of their success yesterday if the fairy steps through the hall were anything to go by. He’d hummed the whole way to the commissary last night, and all the way back, and cooking dinner had been filled with enough inane chatter about what they were cooking that Mihashi, in a fit of excitement and hope, had even let Abe stir the chicken, once. Only one piece had fallen out of the pan, and he wasn’t sure who’d glowed more with pride.

As soon as they got to Shiga-sensei’s office, Abe knocked, and stepped into the man’s office the moment he heard the go-ahead to come in. Shiga-sensei was sitting at his desk, surrounded as he had been last time by books and knowledge in all different kinds of studies, hands clasping together as he gestured for Abe and Mihashi to take the two chairs on the other side of the dark wood.

“Good morning, both of you. I heard that you had a much more successful run in the Simulator yesterday. Congratulations! You’ve both been working very hard.” Shiga-sensei’s many praises would have felt a little too much, coming from anyone else. But maybe the fact that there wasn’t the expected defensive tug in his gut at being condescended to spoke to the fact that he was ready for some positive words towards his progress, Abe thought. Or perhaps it was just Shiga-sensei’s way, pushing up his glasses with his pointer finger as he sat, all smiles. “Now, what can I help you with?”

“We talked to Oki-san yesterday about our Drifting compatibility,” Abe began, watching Mihashi fiddle with his fingers in nervous energy out of the corner of his eye. “In all honesty, I think it would be smart if we had different match ups, in case something happened to one of the pilots, but… I’d really like to make Mihashi my primary partner, if we can. Of course, that means… we have a lot of work to do,” Abe admitted, and Shiga-sensei nodded.

“It’s true, there are a couple of different match-ups we’ve seen. We’re certainly blessed to have Tajima-kun here, and Suyama-kun has shown that he is certainly capable of returning to Jaeger training, and his scores with Hanai-kun are very, very good.” Abe felt the breath catch in his lungs as Shiga-sensei tented his hands, eyes clear as they met his even through the glasses lenses. “Of course, if we could get you and Mihashi-kun in an operable state, that would be optimal, since Tajima-kun and Hanai-kun’s scores are so good, plus they have the experience already.”

“That’s right,” Abe agreed quickly, biting the inside of his cheek when he wondered if it was  _too_  quickly. “In any case, we were wondering if you had any advice to bolster our Drifting, now that we know we can actually do it.”

“For six seconds,” Shiga-sensei reminded. “Hardly long enough to defeat a Kaiju.”

“That’s… true,” Abe admitted, and neither of them mentioned how even those six seconds were no good if they couldn’t get out of each other’s memories long enough to synchronize with the Jaeger itself. Mihashi shifted nervously in his chair, and Abe let the motion speak for the trembling coil of snakes in his gut as well. But then he stamped them down beneath a fierce swallow, knowing that in order to make Mihashi his permanent copilot - in order to secure his own place as a pilot at all, now that Mihashi and Tajima could Drift - he had to convince Shiga-sensei to help them. “What suggestions can you give us?” he asked, hoping that a direct question would allow for less chatter and more guidance.

He was disappointed. Shiga-sensei turned to Mihashi, lips still pulled into a smile. “Mihashi-kun, tell me about your Drift with Tajima-kun.”

“It, it was, uh,” Mihashi started, looking to Abe briefly before his eyes turned to Shiga-sensei’s hands. “It was just like it said? In the books, that is, the books we read in classes. I think.”

“So there was a Neural Handshake?” Shiga-sensei asked, and Abe found himself leaning sideways to stare at Mihashi’s wiggling figure. Mihashi nodded, but he frowned, head tilting as his eyes stared at the ceiling and his nose scrunched up in memory recall. 

“I think… so? There was a whole bunch of memories, and it was really fast, but it was… it was just my memories, and I thought… Well, Tajima-kun is, so… Maybe it wan’t really…”

“A series of your memories?” Abe clarified, and Mihashi nodded, thumbs spinning over  each other in his lap. “And when the memories stopped, what did it feel like?” Mihashi’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his fingers picking nervously at his pants, and Abe sighed, shoulders sloping forward a bit. He knew this was going to be harder than he’d expected. He tried to think back to the moment  _he’d_  Drifted with Tajima, tried to think of the words to describe it, to see if it had felt the same so he could help Mihashi. “Was it like someone was in your head, but you couldn’t really see their face?”

“Y-Yeah! Or, or, or like… looking into a mirror, right after you shower?” Mihashi said, voice escalating with his excited energy. Abe felt his fists clench in joy to be able to help the blond speak some god damned Japanese. “And it was… heavy. Like when you run too long, and you sit down, and then you don’t want to get up…” He looked to Abe then, cheeks burning a light pink and shoulders coming up to his ears as if he was embarrassed to feel physical fatigue. 

“That’s how it is with all Drifts. Well, it’s how mine always are,” Abe said, eyes locked with wide hazel that looked at him like he was spinning gold with every word. “Your brain is synced up to someone else’s after all. Even as good as the technology is, there’s a delay between your brain signals and theirs meeting up, so you feel heavy. It’s even worse when it goes through the Jaeger.”

“It… gets worse?” Mihashi mumbled, eyes falling a bit, but then he sat up straight, shaking his head. “But it’s okay! It didn’t hurt, so…! I can handle it!”

At the sound of a pen clicking open, Abe suddenly remembered that they were sitting in Shiga-sensei’s office, and he looked over to the man, watching as he wrote down a few things on a pad. Abe bit down on his tongue, hoping that it was glowing notes on how well they were communicating and not how they’d burst into his office and then started talking to each other while ignoring him. 

There was a long period of silence when Shiga-sensei was silent, writing down notes, and just as Abe opened his mouth to say something, anything, Shiga-sensei clicked his pen shut, and he put it down with a purpose, folding his hands again as he stared down at the white paper beneath him. “The Jaeger Academy is, as I’m sure both of you know, no cakewalk.” No shit, Abe thought, but he kept the comment and the memory of bruises and physical and mental abuses from commanding officers to himself. “P.P.D.C. specifically designed the course to be almost impossible to pass. Most people would fare better in special ops divisions of the military for the physical aspect, and beating a super computer at chess while riding a unicycle upside down for the mental aspect. To make matters worse, you have to have two people who can do that, and they need to be Drift Compatible with one another.” 

Nothing he hadn’t heard before, Abe thought, wondering when the hell Shiga-sensei was going to get to his point. “There are all levels of skills, but you’re all extremely qualified to pass the Academy at all - well, Mihashi-kun will pass once he shows his competency with the Pons, that is. All different kinds of people fail, but even more varied are the types of people who pass. That said, there is one thing that you need in order to be a Jaeger pilot with one other person, and that thing is easy - trust.”

“Trust,” Abe repeated, and Shiga-sensei nodded his head. Abe swallowed past the bitter taste of annoyance. Trust was such an easy word to say, an easy word to toss around, but what it really meant was so vague, there was no  _way_  Shiga-sensei wasn’t fucking with him again. “So we just have to trust each other.”

“You say it like it’s so easy,” Shiga-sensei said, and this time, Abe was unable to keep a straight face as he felt the scowl pull his brows down. All it earned him was a laugh. “I know what you’re thinking, Abe-kun. But while it is very difficult to truly have that kind of trust for one another, there are very simple things that you can to do try and expedite the process.”

“Tricks?” Mihashi chimed in, and Shiga-sensei nodded.

“Exactly. Tricks to associating each other with good, positive things, and building up mutual trust. You must recondition your current associations of one another from whatever they are to ‘my trusted copilot’. Though, when you say that, it does sound vague, doesn’t it?” He laughed again, and Abe looked to Mihashi to see that the blond looked as bafflingly perplexed as he himself felt. “Well, that’s fine, I think. Trust means different things to different people, after all. Whatever kind of trust you build between you two will be special and unique.”

“What about for the lack of Neural Handshake? I think that’s probably been our biggest problem, so far,” Abe said, looking to Mihashi for confirmation and earning himself one of those neck-breaking nods from the blond. “Do you have any advice for that?”

“Ah, yes, I’ve been doing some research with Oki-kun into that for you.Well, from what I’ve seen and what I’ve discussed with Oki-kun, you basically fall into one another’s R.A.B.I.T.s right at the beginning of the Drift, and the strain from that causes you to fall back out of the Drift, so I agree that it’s certainly a problem. It’s definitely an issue of controlling the neural load between you two, so until you’ve been Drifting with one another long enough to have the balance become conditioned to being equal, it’s probably a good idea to have some kind of tether for the both of you to hold onto.”

“What’s… what’s a tether?” Mihashi whispered, leaning over to Abe. Abe rolled his eyes, because it wasn’t like Shiga-sensei wasn’t sitting  _right there_  to answer their questions or anything. Seeing his glare, Mihashi jumped, then looked to Shiga-sensei with tense shoulders. “What’s… what’s that?”

“Excellent question! I have no idea.” Abe slapped a hand on his face, dragging it down slowly as Shiga-sensei blindly smiled. “You can make it whatever you’d like, but I would suggest perhaps a thought that the both of you can share right before you go into the Drift. Something that will put you on the same mental page with one another, if you will, so that if you  _do_  fall into a R.A.B.I.T., perhaps it will be one that you can pull out of before falling out of the Drift, or, maybe if we’re lucky, you won’t fall at all and instead you’ll drop straight into a normal Drift off that one thought. Then, you’d have enough time to separate your thoughts into other things, and you can slowly balance the neural load yourselves after Drifting instead of before.”

“Will that really work, though?” Abe asked, hardly daring to acknowledge the spark of hope in his chest. “I mean, isn’t it really dangerous to have an unbalanced neural load? What if one of us blows our brains out before we can balance it?”

“That’s where the tether comes in, and why it should probably be a shared thought. Because you’re having the same thought with the same intensity, it should provide an equal footing for entering the Drift right off the bat. Eventually, you should get accustomed to the neural load required of the both of you in your Drifts, and, optimistically, you’d no longer need the tether. It would be… very useful to have a team that could drop right into a Drift. But it won’t happen over night.”

“So, condition one another into trusting each other, and come up with a tether,” Abe summarized, and Shiga-sensei nodded. 

“I suggest finding activities that the two of you can do together that require both of you in equal footing. I seem to recall that you found each other by pitching?” Abe nodded, and Shiga-sensei clapped his hands together. “That’s a perfect example. It requires both of you in equal partnership, Abe-kun trusting Mihashi-kun to throw the ball, and Mihashi-kun trusting Abe-kun to catch it. Also, you should start meditating twice a day instead of just before you Drift, in order to condition the activity to something more relaxing and calming than all these failed Simulations.”

“Meditating?” Abe asked, and Mihashi chirped in.

“H-Holding hands!” 

“Oh, that. Checking if we’re nervous.”

Shiga-sensei tore the page of notes off his notebook. “The physical contact is the quickest way to develop a bond. If Mihashi-kun’s hand is colder, then you should picture yourself giving all the warmth in your body to Mihashi-kun’s through your hand. If your hand is colder, then you should picture taking the comforting warmth of Mihashi-kun’s through his hand. The hand is the place in the body where such temperature changes due to conditioning can be felt, and over time, you should be able to condition yourself into relaxing just with a thought and touching palms. Lastly,” Shiga-sensei said, taking out a thick folder and putting the paper inside, “you should go talk to Tajima-kun, since he Drifted with Mihashi-kun. See if he has any advice. It’s one thing to discuss the Drift theoretically, but it’s always practical applications that gives the best data and has been since Doctor Lightcap herself.”

Abe nodded and stood out of his chair, bowing quickly before he followed Mihashi out into the hall. As soon as the door shut behind them, Abe turned to Mihashi, who was already grappling in his deep pockets for his cell phone. A few clicks and then Mihashi was holding the phone up to his head, blinking hard holes into Abe’s dog tags. “Ah, T-Tajima-kun, are… where are…? …Okay, don’t go anywhere, Abe-kun and I - yes, Abe-kun… No, you won’t…! …Okay, be there in a second!” Mihashi hung up the phone, and Abe sighed at the realization that Tajima seemed to like him about as much as ever from the one-sided conversation he’d heard. “T-Tajima-kun is in the Shatterdome, so…”

“All right, let’s go, then. The sooner we can get this worked out, the less likely Marshal will be to put us on separate teams.” Mihashi nodded, once again prancing through the hallways with his excited energy and all but sparkling with excitement as he pressed the button for the elevator to take them down. 

“What… what do you think we should use? For a tether, that is,” Mihashi asked, fingers fiddling with his dog tags as he peered into Abe’s face.

“No idea. It should probably be something we both care about pretty strongly, so we can focus on it even while we’re trying to Drift,” Abe said. “We should talk about it over lunch, so think about it until then, okay?”

“Okay!” Mihashi chirped, and the both of them stepped onto an elevator that was quiet and yet so very loud with how loud their thoughts both were. Abe stared at the red numbers pass by, not too many considering how close they were to the Shatterdome floor, but enough for him to think back to all of Mihashi he’d seen in their Drift attempts to far. A lot of fear, a lot of blackness and empty things, but also a hunger that Abe knew himself, that Abe understood deep in his gut like a carnal need. The desire to be in a Jaeger. He chewed on the thought, knew he could make the words stick in his head, felt them at all hours of the day as it was, and decided that he’d bring it up to Mihashi over lunch as a possible tether. 

The elevator opened to the hall, and after passing through the sliding doors into the grand openness of the Shatterdome, Abe waited for Mihashi to take the lead. He followed the blond as best as he could, weaving through people finishing up the repairs on Striker Cleanup, through the people arranging supplies and running all different loads of safety checks and drills, until finally he heard the obnoxious laughter that belonged to a short pilot he knew very well. The bruise on his side was still barely visible when he changed shirts, no longer the angry purple but a yellow blemish, a still reminder that Mihashi wasn’t the only person in this base capable of pinning him to the ground.

“Mihashi!” Tajima yelled across the Shatterdome, arm up in the air and waving around to catch his attention. The blond perked up, steps quickening, and Abe followed behind with his normal pace, knowing that the first thirty seconds of their conversation would be unintelligible babbling anyway. Sure enough, by the time he caught up, Mizutani and Sakaeguchi were exchanging confused looks while Mihashi held his fists at his chest level while bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement and Tajima was laughing joyfully. 

“Tajima, we had a few questions for you, if you’re not busy,” Abe said, and Tajima looked to him before raising a thumb’s up to Sakaeguchi and Mizutani.

“I’ll catch up with you two later!” he said, and taking that as their leave, Mizutani peeled off, followed by Sakaeguchi after shooting Abe a friendly wave. 

Abe raised his hand lazily in response, then looked back to Tajima with a grimace. “Do you mind if we go to the break room or something? It’s a little loud in here for this kind of conversation.”

“Yeah, sure! Don’t touch the coffee machine, though. I heard Izumi gutted a man with a screwdriver the last time it broke.” Tajima then sped off, Mihashi tight on his heels, more babbling excuses of Japanese passing between the two and somehow being understood, even in the screaming loudness of the bays. A new determination filled Abe to make the Drift work between him and Mihashi, if only because the best possible alternative was to have  _Tajima_  as a Drift partner. He wasn’t quite sure he wouldn’t rather get turned into Kaiju shit.

He opened the break room door, and as good as his reputation, a notecard on the coffee machine in what Abe recognized from the Big Windup blueprint notes as Izumi’s handwriting spelled certain death for anyone that hindered the machine’s operation. A small bag of premium coffee sat next to the larger container of what was likely a cheaper brew, Izumi’s name written on it and a second death threat to anyone who touched it.

“Okay, what’s up?” Tajima asked as soon as the door was shut, and Mihashi stepped in, as loquacious around Tajima as Shiga-sensei had been, and about equally as coherent as far as Abe was concerned. 

“How did we… When we Drifted, how… Abe-kun wants…!”

“We talked to Shiga-sensei about how to Drift more effectively, and since you and Mihashi Drifted, he told us to come ask you how you did it,” Abe interrupted, cutting off all twenty minutes of Mihashi trying to spit the words out. Well, it  _was_ Tajima, so perhaps it would have only been fifteen.

“Oh, I see,” Tajima said, leaning against the counter and staring at Abe carefully. “It’s easy, really. You just have to kick the Neural Handshake up in increments instead of the smooth flow you usually do.”

Abe grimaced. “Even if I did have any idea what the hell you mean by that, we don’t  _have_  a Neural Handshake. No kicking anything, smoothly or in increments.”

Tajima tilted his head, looking to Mihashi who nodded in confirmation. “Huh, that’s weird. No Neural Handshake? How do you Drift, then?” Abe swallowed the groan of frustration at Tajima’s grin. “Just kidding! Hmm, well! We actually messed up at first, too, because usually I’m the one who pulls Hanai into the Drift, so I tried pulling Mihashi and instead I fell into a R.A.B.I.T. It was a really cool birthday party, but not something that you could use for Drifting.”

Abe’s irritation flared that the universe would be so cruel to let Tajima endure a fucking  _birthday party_  while Abe stomped through what had felt like at least three lifetimes of Mihashi’s existential crises. “Is that even possible? Pulling into the Drift? I thought the whole point was to go in at the same time to balance the neural load.”

Tajima tilted his head, scratching his jaw a bit. “Well, that’s what they say in the books, but there’s a slight hiccup, really. Someone goes in first, and even though it takes just a split second, they’re the ones to control the neural load.” He grinned again. “That’s why I always do it for me and Hanai. He can’t feel the hitch.”

Abe rubbed his temple. He’d definitely never felt a hitch either, not with Haruna, and definitely not with Mihashi. “So, you’re saying, let Mihashi lead the Drift and it’ll be just fine?”

“Worked for us! Might be different for you, though, since you don’t have a Neural Handshake. Well, whatever you’ve been doing hasn’t worked, so might as well try something new, right?” And then Tajima was laughing, and Mihashi was giggling (probably more because Tajima was laughing and not that he’d found what Tajima had said actually funny, since he was kind of being prodded too). “I heard from Oki that you two are pretty good together, though, so you probably just need a few weeks to figure it out. I’ll try to see if I can’t canoodle Momokan into getting you that time, and in the meanwhile, just see if letting Mihashi catch the hitch will work.” 

The last thing he wanted was for his future to be on Tajima’s shoulders, but he nodded, knowing that in just about every way, Tajima was his superior at the moment. A hand slapped on his shoulder, and with a friendly salute, he was out of the door and shooting off to wherever his next destination was, as loud leaving as he had been coming. The break room then fell silent except for the slight tapping of Mihashi’s dog tags as his foot bounced in nervous energy, and the muted noises of the Shatterdome outside. 

“Did you think of a tether?” Abe asked, hands gripping the back of one of the chairs as he stepped forward. It was still a little early for lunch, and they were in as good a place to talk as their room was, after all. Mihashi shook his head, his foot pausing in its bouncing before it picked up even faster again. 

“M-Maybe something about… Big Windup?” Mihashi suggested, and Abe felt the grin on his face at the fact that they were so close to being on the same page. So close, he almost felt like he could close his eyes and reach out and find Mihashi’s fingertips just brushing his own. 

“Yeah, I was thinking something like that, too. I felt it, when I was in your memories. How much you want to be in a Jaeger.” Abe watched as a bit of the color dropped out of Mihashi’s cheeks before flaming back in a touch of shame. Unnecessary, Abe thought, since he felt the same thing, but then again only one of his memories had been invaded so far, and Mihashi had definitely had things exposed he probably would have been fine never reliving. It wasn’t his call to decide when the blond was unnecessarily embarrassed. “I have that same feeling. And it’s strong, for both of us.”

“So… ‘I want to be in a Jaeger’? For our tether?” Mihashi asked, eyes wide and bright on Abe’s face and only getting wider and brighter when he nodded. Abe watched as Mihashi’s lips pressed together, curling into that half-smile wiggle he got, and he suddenly recalled the dream he’d had, the dream he hadn’t remembered but that had gotten dredged up from his subconscious when he’d Drifted with Tajima, a thought that he’d never really consciously wondered before but that had apparently been strong enough. A passing thought that even now he didn’t consider, one that just flittered through his brain before flittering back out. A curiosity for what Mihashi’s real, true smile looked like.

“Anyway, let’s go up and get a workout in before lunch, and then we’ll sit down and plan our schedule for how to go from here,” Abe suggested, and Mihashi nodded eagerly, pushing off the counter where he’d been leaning next to Tajima and heading for the door of the break room. “We need to go get our gym bags, first,” Abe reminded, and Mihashi nodded, wrist twisting the handle and pulling the door open to expose them once again to the hustle of the Jaeger bays. Abe followed, and on his way out he caught Sakaeguchi’s gaze from where he was leaning over Suyama’s shoulder on one of the flight simulator computers, a bright grin and a second friendly wave reminding him of the gentle tug of friendship he’d developed so bizarrely with the ginger. A silent gratitude for putting his shit together when Abe probably would have lost it, himself. A mute promise to buy the guy a drink if they ever ended up at the officer’s club together. 

The elevator ride down to their room was as silent as the ride to the Shatterdome had been, but this time Abe’s mind was carefully blank, focusing instead on the creaking of the elevator around them, on the way Mihashi was plucking at some dirt under his finger nail, on the busy sounds of the Shatterdome disappearing by the time they’d gotten to the floor where they lived. The hallway was empty, and Mihashi opened the door with a twist of his key, pushing the door open noisily and holding it open so Abe could follow.

Abe looked around for his gym bag and grabbed it, stuffing inside a pair of workout pants and a clean shirt, as well as his tennis shoes. He’d probably be back on the treadmill, he thought with a flare of annoyance at himself for not having taken the time yet to map out a route in the base for him to run. Tomorrow, without fail, he promised himself, stuffing his shoes inside and zipping up his bag once he was ready.

“Good to go?” he asked Mihashi, causing the blond to nod. Abe pulled his bag onto his shoulder, and stepped out of the room, watching as Mihashi locked it behind them. He then led the way to the elevator, but just as he pushed the button to call it down to their floor, the doors slid open, and Izumi stepped off, running flat into him and all but knocking him to the floor. “What the - ?”

“Why the hell are y - Oh, Abe, just who I was looking for,” Izumi drawled, tone changing from sharp to flat in an instant, blue eyes flashing over to Mihashi. “And Mihashi, too. Awesome. Come on, I’ve got a lot of talking to do in not a lot of time, so let’s hit up your room and get comfy.”

“What’s - ” Abe began, but Izumi brushed past, towards their room.

“Not out here, idiot.” He stepped in more closely, voice low and uncharacteristically fast despite the fact that as far as Abe could tell, they were alone in the hallway. “This is the kind of conversation that is top secret and that I could lose my job over if someone knew I was having it,” he admitted, leaning back and leveling a blank stare on Abe’s face as if he hadn’t just admitted to be well on his way to breaking military protocol. “So, we were saying about going to your room?”

“…Right,” Abe agreed, looking to Mihashi carefully and then abandoning the elevator to shut behind them, two passengers lighter for the seriousness Abe could see in Izumi’s eyes despite the carefree posture. “Come on, Mihashi,” he said, and Mihashi followed after the same hiccup of hesitation Abe felt hanging in his throat, wondering just what kind of hot mess he was about to get himself into.

 


	15. infelicity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is super long because (1) i could not for the LIFE of me find a place to end it (2) i found the place to end it and it was THREE MILES AWAY (3) i wanted to hit that 100k mark YEAHHHH and (4) because i am going on a business trip for a week and can't write, so to make up for it here you go. 
> 
> THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR KUDOS AND MESSAGES AND SUPPORT PLEASE ENJOY THIS VERY UPLIFTING CHAPTER,,

As soon as the heavy door to their room shut noisily behind Mihashi, Abe put his gym bag down by the coffee table at the door, looking over his shoulder before he turned to face the mechanic that had led them back inside. His eyes glanced to where Izumi was fiddling with the coffee mug in his hand while leaning against the back of their couch, then moved to tired eyes and a tight mouth. Abe crossed his arms over his chest, waiting as Izumi stared at them for a brief second then exhaled sharply.

“Okay, I’ll be super to the point, here,” Izumi started, one hand gripping the back of the couch beside his hip and the other holding the coffee mug haphazardly at his thigh with just his pinky finger. “First, this conversation never happened, otherwise I lose my job and you two lose your Jaeger.”

“M-maybe, you shouldn’t…?” Mihashi said, and Abe looked down to see the blond tugging nervously on his shirt while blinking over at Izumi. It was just enough to get a jingle out of his dog tags, but not enough to show his collar bones. “If, if it’s that bad, then…”

“Here’s the problem with that. You two are idiots.” Abe felt the scowl on his face, and Izumi shrugged in response. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s a fact. I mean, it’s fine, most Jaeger pilots  _are_  idiots. I’m pretty sure it’s one of the criteria they pick for, actually. But you two are, you know. Super idiots. A particularly idiotic breed. I can’t really trust you to read between the lines, so I’m going to have to be blunt about it.”

“Is there a point in here somewhere or did you just come down here to insult us?” Abe asked, finger tapping against his bicep. Izumi looked down at the empty mug in his hand, swirling it around with slow turns of his wrist.

“My performance report is due in two weeks, and we’ve got a problem. Well,  _you’ve_  got a problem, which means  _I_ have a problem,” Izumi said. Abe tightened his arms where they were curled together at his chest, a small alert pinging in his head for some reason despite the fact that - so far at least - everything Izumi had said was fairly innocuous. Nonetheless, he felt the dip in his expression, knew his discomfort was showing, and didn’t bother hiding it in case it drew out whatever Izumi was hiding, if he was.

“My supervisors at Kodiak didn’t send out brand new Mark IV Jaegers to bases that were going to be training up teams to go into them,” Izumi continued, blue eyes studying the bottom of his coffee mug as if it had his script written in the bottom. “They sent out brand new Mark IV Jaegers to bases that  _already had_  the teams to go in them. The usual plan - send the first couple out into the field, get some feedback to know what kind of modifications they needed to make, and hopefully stop production of the Mark III and try to go non-nuclear.” Izumi looked up to meet Abe’s eyes, then to Mihashi and back into his mug again. “Metharocin isn’t cheap to make, you know, and too many of the pilots that don’t die in combat are dying of cancer instead even with the damn stuff. We even had one team back in Alaska melt in the cockpit when there was a reactor breach in combat.”

“Shit,” Abe groaned, closing his eyes at the mental image. He could only hope that the connection had been fried from the radiation and LOCCENT hadn’t had to hear those seconds, however brief. Izumi’s expression didn’t leave him hopeful. He’d always been careful to keep his container of pills hidden whenever his parents came to visit, knowing they had enough worries without the reminder of that their son was cooking slowly in the very machine that protected them. Having been told of the dangers was one thing, but having their son pop anti-radiation pills in front of them had always felt like too much.

“Yeah. Anyway,” Izumi continued, “I don’t know how Marshal Momoe managed to talk Kodiak into getting Big Windup here when there was only one team already in place, and I’m not going to ask because it’s none of my damn business. But I like it here, the weather’s not too bad, and I’m shit at getting used to time zones, so I don’t want to go anywhere.”

Abe cut Izumi off before he could continue. “If your point is that we need to hurry up and Drift properly so that your performance report can show that there are two teams at Nishiura, that’s not a problem. Tajima can Drift with both of us just fine, and Hanai has an old partner from the Jaeger Academy in the Jumphawk lineup he can use to pass the performance report,” he said, but Izumi shook his head and tapped his coffee mug against his thigh.

“Yeah, well, that’s the thing. I kind of accidentally got the numbers for your Drifts out of Hamada the other day, which are technically supposed to be top secret, by the way, since you two aren’t an official team yet. He’s a chatty drunk and the cheap beer at the commissary isn’t the piss it is in America.” Izumi huffed out a laugh, and Abe heard the edge on it that kept it from sounding humored. “I was poking around in the documents for the performance criteria the other night when I couldn’t sleep to prepare my performance report and I found some notes. Turns out there’s a threshold of an 85% sync rate, and the highest you two got with Tajima was 82%, and Suyama and Hanai both clock in around 80%. Good, definitely enough to Drift, but not good enough to keep Big Windup.”

“What if… Tajima-kun and Hanai-kun, could they - ” Mihashi started, but Izumi shook his head at that too.

“Nope. I talked to Mizutani, and that idiot’s performance report is due in a couple days and Tajima and Hanai can’t be the official team for  _both_ Jaegers. So basically, you two idiots have to figure out - ” Izumi hesitated and gesticulated between Abe and Mihashi with his free hand, “ -  _whatever_  this is before my performance report is due. As in, there needs to be at least one successful drop in the Simulator for me to run diagnostics on. And you better give me at least a day to do it, because if I have to pull an all nighter over it, they’ll never find your bodies and all my hard work will have been for nothing.”

“…You  _hacked_  P.P.D.C. because you were bored?!” Abe suddenly pieced together, watching as one of Izumi’s shoulders hiked up to his ears a bit and his fingers tightened on his coffee mug as he waved it around in the air in front of him.

“That’s such a…  _strong_  word. With  _connotations,_ you know.” Blue eyes locked with Abe’s, and then a grin tugged onto Izumi’s face. Abe felt the moment shift, knew Izumi was diverting the conversation and wondered for a brief moment how much his face showed the spike in his blood pressure he felt pounding in his veins. “I would think you’d be thanking me, since I found that tidbit about the Drift threshold to keep Big Windup. A little pressure is probably exactly what you two need to figure your shit out.”

“ _As if protecting a city of over seven million people isn’t pressure enough,_ ” Abe ground out, a hand reaching up to grip his hair between his fingers. He inhaled once, eyes focusing on the ceiling as his head tilted back, then exhaled carefully the shaky coil inside his gut. He looked over to Mihashi, who, as he’d about expected, looked green and was wobbling in place. Abe hissed out the last of his breath, then looked back at Izumi, releasing his hair and holding his hand in front of him to anchor his thoughts. “So, summary. You hacked the P.P.D.C. and found the criteria for Nishiura keeping Big Windup. Only me and Mihashi can make this work, so we basically have a week and a half to Drift enough to make a drop.”

“No matter what anyone says about you, Abe, at least you can say that you know how to listen.”

Abe pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m also guessing that our score in the Simulator is going to play a factor, as well.”

“I didn’t see anything like that in the documents, but that would probably be a wise assumption.” Abe exhaled, rubbing his face with his hands, and Izumi clicked his tongue sharply. “Look, it kind of was an accident, I really didn’t  _mean_ to - okay, that’s kind of a lie too. I  _was_  meaning to but for something  _else_ and - you know what, just.” A frustrated sound as he pushed off the couch and walked over to put a finger on Abe’s chest. “Don’t screw this up, Abe. Make it happen. And  _you_ ,” Izumi continued, turning to Mihashi and putting his finger on the blond’s chest this time. “I know you like to chatter but you can’t let this one slip. It’ll be bad for both of us. And Abe.”

Mihashi shook his head into a golden blur, managing to say “I won’t! I promise!” while leaving Abe feeling rather bewildered that Mihashi was, apparently in some of his social circles, chatty.  _Chatty._  “But… is it really okay?”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine that the P.P.D.C. wouldn’t notice someone hacking into their system, especially at sensitive stuff like a new line of Jaegers,” Abe said, his voice acerbic even to his own ears but hardly caring. His gut was tense with Izumi’s reticence, made even worse with the fact that he was partially  _glad_ , if only because of the information the mechanic had brought regarding his and Mihashi’s suddenly-limited timeframe. He wasn’t sure if he was more frustrated at Izumi for giving him the information, or himself for being glad to have it.

Izumi arched his neck and gave him a sour look. “Look, asshole, I’m only telling you this because I found those numbers and wanted you to know since you’re an okay guy, and Mihashi’s pretty cool, so I trust both of you not to be dicks about this. Nishiura is a nice base and I want to stay. Don’t make my kindness come back to bite me in the ass.” Mihashi glittered at the compliment, and seeing how stupidly happy the blond was at such a small thing, this small glint of positivity in the dark cloak covering his eyes, Abe felt the moment his mind shifted into the reluctant gratitude. Izumi must have seen it too, reaching out and patting him on the shoulder twice before he stepped towards their door. “Awesome. So, I’ll be looking for the call from Hamada with your drop data.  _Don’t_  fuck this up.”

Causing the door to groan as he pulled it open, Izumi slipped out into the hall, one hand in his pocket and the other swinging the coffee mug precariously. Abe watched him for a few seconds, then exhaled carefully, running a hand through his hair as he turned back to where Mihashi was still looking rather pleased from having been called ‘cool’, having apparently forgotten all about the shitstorm Izumi just took on their faces. Huh. If he’d known it was  _that_  easy to calm the idiot down and get him in a better state of mind, things would have probably been a lot easier. A thought he filed away for another time, when he didn’t have bigger things to worry about. Jaeger-sized things.

“Mihashi,” he said, causing his partner to blink up at him curiously, and with a return of the apprehension that showed Abe that perhaps Mihashi wasn’t as simple minded as that after all. Abe’s teeth clenched shut inside his mouth, jaw tightening as he tried to think of what to say with the stress screaming at all the cells in his body. Two weeks before final judgment. It was an odd mix of too many words and yet too few clouding in his head, obfuscating anything except an intense punching desire to  _make this work_. A desire he’d had since he’d stepped off the baseball diamond for the last time, a desire that had pushed him into working with Haruna even with their tumultuous past, a desire that had him here now, at Nishiura, standing across from golden eyes that suddenly shifted and firmed into something as strong as Abe felt weak.

“We were going to plan after lunch, so… Let’s not change it yet,” Mihashi said, and just like that, all of the anxiety washed out of Abe’s gut like a tide going out to sea. He was right, Abe decided in achingly glacial acceptance. Technically, nothing had changed, as much as it felt like  _everything_ had. Their goal was still the same, and even if their time table was a little… well,  _significantly_   _tighter_  than he’d expected, they could do it. They’d have to.

“Right. You’re right,” Abe agreed, closing his eyes and letting the air fill his lungs and open his chest. He let the pressure out slowly, and nodded, repeating himself again as the words seemed to act like a calming mantra for his raging swirl of emotions. “You’re right.” The moment he didn’t feel like he was drowning anymore, Abe reached around and grabbed his gym bag where he’d put it down at the door. Mihashi followed suit, hiking his bag onto his shoulder and jiggling the silver ring of keys to their room in his hand as he extracted it from his pocket. It was an oddly comforting sound, in a way; leaving the room and  _doing_ something, not sitting on the couch, staring at a ceiling Abe had long since memorized, trapped to his thoughts. This was  _action_ , and his body was screaming for it.

By the time they’d locked the door behind them and walked over to the elevator, his body was already warming with the anticipation of a good workout. His muscles were just about vibrating beneath his skin, and it was only when he realized Mihashi was scampering to keep up with him that he realized his striding footsteps off the elevator were wider and faster than usual. He dumped his bag off almost immediately as he opened the door to the gym, inhaling the smell of stale sweat and sterile cleaner, and when the grin slashed his face, he knew he was ready.

There was a sort of wordless agreement to hit the treadmills, or rather, Abe started towards them and Mihashi didn’t seem too opposed to following suit. He started walking first, warming up his body slowly after a week of sitting on his ass doing nothing. Mihashi did the same next to him, the sounds of their plodding footsteps and the whirring of the belts filling the room along with the sounds of weights hitting the floor, and the mindless news on the television in the corner.

“Should we… plan at lunch? Or go back to the room?” Mihashi asked suddenly, and Abe looked over, a little surprised that the blond was initiating a conversation while they were working out but more than a little pleased as well. A trickle of excitement filled his gut and settled in, causing his footsteps to quicken enough for him to have to change the pace of his warm up.

“If it’s quiet enough, we can do it at lunch. We need to talk about our Drifting schedule, and some things that we can do together like Shiga-sensei said.” Abe looked over to Mihashi, whose face was a little screwed up in a bizarre expression.

“We could just pitch…?” he said, and Abe felt the bark of laughter out of his mouth even before he heard it. Mihashi shot him a sulky look, and, “What’s so funny? I was…”

“No, no, I know you were serious,” Abe said, his eyes falling down to the treadmill in front of him as a hollow hole slowly peeled open in his chest at a thought that didn’t feel as unfamiliar has he would have expected for the novelty of it on the tip of his tongue. A thought that tormented him, a single thought, not even one with words; a thought of what it would have been like, a world where there was no breach, a world where… where maybe they could have been on the same team, where he could look at Mihashi across a field and know the sharp taste of adrenaline with the knowledge that each one of his decisions would make or break a summer victory; a world where he had the kind of pitcher that made him  _glad_  to be a catcher, a pitcher who made each ounce of his catcher’s gear feel like an award as much as the glittering golden pins on his dress uniform did, a pitcher who made each ball an eighteen and a half meter promise, a pitcher who worked hard and looked back at him with golden eyes like their shared gaze whispered the secrets of the stars. An unfamiliar tang sliced at his tongue until he pressed it tightly to the roof of his mouth, throat strangely knotting with a daydream that refused to trickle out between his fingers despite the shimmering water it felt like.

For the first time in years, Abe really wanted to play baseball.

Next to him, he heard the sound of Mihashi finally kicking into his run, and Abe followed suit, torso twisting with each impact of the soles of his shoes in his jog, mind spinning faster until he was almost dizzy with the revelation. The icons on the treadmill flashed his distance ran and he focused on them to keep his pace and not lose himself, watching each kilometer flash by with a comfort in the monotony to keep him grounded, apparently needing a tether for this, too.

He finished out eight kilometers before his week of rest caught up with him and he had to quit for the burn in his sides. He slowed down to a cool-down walk, looking over to see Mihashi cherry-red in the face despite only breathing as hard as Abe was. There was a brief moment where Abe felt a stroke of concern, but he remembered Mihashi’s pale skin and figured it was probably just that. As if hearing his concern, Mihashi looked over and attempted a smile, though it was more a grimace than anything else. Abe looked over to the weights and decided to pass for today, since he knew there was  _no_  way Mihashi was going to let him go without pitching now that he had an excellent excuse.

Abe stepped off the treadmill, legs a bit like jelly as he stood still after moving for so long, reaching for a towel and wiping his face of sweat. He looked down at where his shirt was sticking to his chest with the sweat and pulled it away, using the cotton to fan himself a bit as his dog tags clinked together at the motion. He was filthy and disgusting, and a shower sounded absolutely delicious. Mihashi was not any better, his cheeks still flushed red and his hair slicked down at the roots.

Walking into the locker room after grabbing their gym bags, Abe stripped down and stepped into the shower, cranking the water on and enjoying the hiss of warm water on his fatigued muscles. He made it a little hotter, just enough for steam to curl above the tile wall waist-high, then started to clean his body of the post-workout mess. After five minutes, he reached out and turned off the water, grabbing a towel and rubbing himself dry. He then wrapped it around his waist and stepped out, walking into the changing area to grab his clothes. As soon as he pulled on a pair of boxer briefs, he took the towel and attacked his hair, finishing just in time to see Mihashi walk out of the showers behind him. One of Mihashi’s hands was fiddling with the bangs near his temple, and he turned to grab his gym bag, giving Abe a sudden view from the side.

It was the first time Abe really noticed how slim Mihashi was, almost enough to be called scrawny if it weren’t for the smooth muscles that were very clear beneath skin pink from the hot shower. They weren’t bulky by far, but they moved with each of Mihashi’s jerky motions digging around in his bag to find his clothes. And then Mihashi’s back was to him as the blond dumped out his things and rummaged around on the bench, and he didn’t look as tiny from this perspective at all. In fact, he looked… fit, Abe’s brain supplied, though that wasn’t quite the mystery word that dangled at the tip of his tongue. It didn’t account for the surprisingly wide span of Mihashi’s shoulders, or the smooth contractions of muscle around shoulder blades that rotated and swiveled, or the way Mihashi’s waist dipped into hip bones that protruded just enough to make their own indention on the towel wrapped around the blond’s waist, and - 

“…be-kun?”

Abe blinked out of where he’d been staring, stunned and feeling his face burn despite the fact that he hadn’t been doing anything blush-worthy. It was important for him to know the health of his partner, and making sure he was in good physical condition was part of that. Absolutely nothing to turn bright red over. “What?” he asked, his voice almost level, perhaps just a hair antagonistic from his irritation at his reflex reaction.

“I asked you if you had an extra shirt,” Mihashi repeated, turning around at last with apologetic eyes. “I think I accidentally forgot mine…”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Abe said, digging down in his bag and extending the cotton out for Mihashi to grab. He stared at his bag carefully as Mihashi dressed, taking the right tail of his towel, still covering his head, and pressing it over his mouth where his frown was framed by what he knew were flushed cheeks. Shaking off his odd reaction, he pulled on his second shirt, and then a pair of pants, tucking in the cotton with jerky movements before he sat down on the bench to pull on socks and then his boots. He double knotted them, childishly satisfied at the security.

Mihashi dressed quickly as well, his hair slowly puffing back out as it dried in the air, and they dropped the towels off in the locker room wash bin before taking their bags. “Are you hungry yet?” Abe asked, looking down at his watch and seeing that it was lunch time. Mihashi nodded, and Abe bit back the snort of laughter. There probably would never be a time Mihashi Ren turned down food, he supposed.

They got on the elevator and went to the floor with the communal cafeteria, and Abe flashed his identification card, loading a tray up with food before looking around for a good place to have a conversation. The general dining area was full and noisy, but the open second floor looked vacant enough. With a jerk of his head, Abe signaled for Mihashi to head up and followed behind, picking out a table for two in the back, a corner quiet enough.

“So,” Abe started, taking a bite of rice and chewing thoughtfully. “We’ve got two weeks until Izumi’s report is due, minus a day for him to work on it. We’ll want to get in at least two drops in the Simulation and a day for him to work on the numbers, too. So, call it ten days for us to Drift. You think we can do it?”

He looked to Mihashi with a crooked grin on his face, watching as Mihashi dropped his fork in surprise to be asked such a question. “O-Of course - !” he stammered, eyes wide and locked with Abe’s, a bewildered look on his face. “We’re…! We’re going to do it! Because I’m going to work hard, and you’re going to work hard, and we’re going to do it, together!”

Abe felt the settling warmth in his chest at Mihashi’s impassioned declaration, though he couldn’t help the laugh that came out in the face of Mihashi’s equally impassioned expression, which happened to be splotchy red cheeks over wide eyes and a grip on his plastic fork so tight, it bent a little. He looked like a little kid, almost, so different from the well-muscled soldier Abe had seen in the locker room. Remembering the difference had the humor in his chest dying a little bit, and Abe’s eyes fell from Mihashi’s face down to his right hand, clenched in a tight fist around his fork. A hand that should be pitching for a team, Abe thought, tracing a finger up the side of his glass to catch the perspiration.  _The kind of pitcher that could shut out a number one team_ , he’d thought the first time he’d caught for the blond, what felt like so long ago and yet was but a couple of weeks. He looked down at the tray of food before him, carefully planned from military rations, and he swallowed thickly.

“Yeah, we’ll do it. We’re going to be pilots. Together,” Abe agreed, and he looked up into Mihashi’s glowing face, lips that curled into a pressing smile, and Abe couldn’t stop his answering grin even if he’d wanted to. “So, ten days to Drift. Shiga-sensei said to meditate every day, and find activities we can do together. So I guess - ”

“Pitching,” Mihashi interrupted, taking a bite of salad and crunching noisily. “We should pitch, every day!”

“Yeah, I’m good with that. We’ll have to watch your pitch count, though. It’d be bad if you threw out your shoulder or hurt your wrist,” Abe said, wishing he had some kind of a notepad to take notes. “The cooking is probably good, too, so let’s keep up the breakfast thing. How are we on groceries?”

“Just fine! I checked yesterday, so…”

“Okay. We should do the Kwoon Combat Room once a day, too. It’ll get our bodies in sync better, which might help with the mental part. And we should try to Drift twice a day, too. Not more than that, since the last time you got a nose bleed on the third try.” Mihashi made a sour face, and Abe rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that look. I can’t Drift with someone who fried his brain.” Mihashi’s pout lingered, but he continued eating and left Abe to continue. “Working out together this morning was kinda fun, don’t you think? Is there an indoor track we can use?”

Mihashi tilted his head. “Um, I don’t…. really know. We should ask Shinooka-chan,” he said, and Abe nodded, making the mental note to do so. “Can… can we go to the shooting range, too? So I can… I want to make sure that when we go into the Simulator, I’ll be good enough… with the rifle, that is. So our score will be good.”

“Yeah, sure, though my crappy aiming skills probably won’t help you learn how to trust me in a Jaeger built for shooting things,” Abe said with a wry smile, expecting Mihashi to laugh and watching instead as Mihashi’s shoulders rose to his suddenly-pink ears, head ducking forward as he spoke in a soft but steady voice.

“I trust you, Abe-kun,” he said, leaving Abe to wonder if it was possible for his stomach to turn inside out. Mihashi’s eyes were locked with his, hazel and sure, and it took Abe three whole heartbeats to clear his throat and remember what they were supposed to be talking about.

“Okay, so. If we don’t need any groceries or anything, why don’t we go to the Simulator after lunch? And then we can go to the balcony and pitch before it gets dark, get some dinner, and see if we feel like going to the Kwoon Combat Room?”

Mihashi nodded, picking silently at his food, and Abe exhaled softly, doing the same. The rest of the meal was quiet between them and loud all around, the boisterous cafeteria bursting at the seams with personnel and noise of laughter and chatting, but it was somehow still peaceful, there in the plastic chair across from Mihashi, grip a little too tight on his fork and a strange reluctance to meet Mihashi’s eye.

As soon as they were both finished eating, Abe led the way to take their trays down to the carts for return, Mihashi quick in his footsteps and humming happily as they meandered through the crowd to get back to the elevator. Abe found himself wondering if it was an actual song Mihashi was always singing, or if he just made it up as he went along to whichever tune was dancing in his head at the moment. He decided to leave it to wonder, for now, a piece of Mihashi that he’d find out someday when their minds were no longer separate. A reward for reaching their goal.

The hallway to the Jaeger Simulator quickly passed beneath their feet, and Abe knocked briefly on the door into the simulated LOCCENT before opening it. He looked around for Hamada’s familiar blond hair, but didn’t see it, and Mihashi peeked around, also looking. Before Abe could ask one of the technicians who’d turned around if they could use the Simulator, Hamada peeked up from beneath the desk, and as soon as he saw them, he grinned.

“Oh, hey, you two! Sorry, I was working on the wiring,” Hamada said, walking over while rubbing the back of his head in his embarrassment. “You two looking to try Drifting?”

“Yeah!” Mihashi chirped, obviously excited, while Abe looked at Hamada and carefully remembered how it was this idiot’s drunken rambling that had saved their skin and gotten Izumi’s red flag going while ‘accidentally’ hacking P.P.D.C. At the thought, he exhaled and forced his posture to soften, knowing it was tense with the fact that Hamada still had the big-brother act around Mihashi and Abe had, admittedly, been kind of an asshole. Not without reason, of course, but still.

“All right. You two know the drill by now. Go on back and we’ll get it started.” Hamada turned back to the command center, and Mihashi stepped down the hall to the changing room, Abe behind him after making sure the door closed properly.

As soon as they were in the locker room, Abe was already reaching for his phone, pulling it out and opening the clock app. He swiped over to the alarm, lips curling a bit in amusement at the fact that it was already set for five minutes. He looked to Mihashi, who was standing expectantly in front of him, and in a promising unison, they reached out, hands clasping together. Their palms weren’t too different in temperature, Mihashi’s perhaps a little cooler than Abe’s, but not so much that it was probably anything to do with nervousness.

“Ready?” Abe asked, and Mihashi nodded, closing his eyes. Abe pushed the button on the app to start the count down and closed his eyes as well, and this time, his focus was different. Now that he knew it was a meditation exercise and not just holding hands to check each other’s temperature, he could concentrate on little things, like how he could just barely register Mihashi’s breath tickling his collar bones, the soft sounds of their breathing slowly evening out, the quiet hum of the base as it worked in puzzle piece unison to perform its duties to Saitama, the feel of Mihashi’s callouses brushing ever so slightly against his hand where their hands shifted with each breath, and before Abe felt like the five minutes were up, his alarm blared noisily into the room and pulled him back into himself.

Across from him, Mihashi’s eyes opened and he nodded, turning to his locker and pulling off his shirt before he shook his hair back into its messy place. Abe turned to his locker as well, opened it, and looked at the black electromyograph suit hanging promisingly inside. He reached out, stroking the material, and then stripped down to his boxers, tugging and pulling and zipping up until he was prepared to get the armor for completion. Then, because this was now as much as part of his ritual as the meditation had become, he turned, prodding Mihashi around to make sure that the blond’s suit was in place as it should be, running his finger along the neckline at the back when he noticed it had curled under a bit. Mihashi flushed, likely embarrassed that Abe was still having to help him get the suit on, but he only smiled, ruffling Mihashi’s hair under his hand before letting it fall to Mihashi’s shoulder.

“Let’s go,” Abe said, and Mihashi nodded, stepping into place by Abe’s side as the two of them walked down the hall into the outfitting room. There, the technicians swarmed and moved in perfect coordination to get them suited up, drilling and placing, until at last Abe reached out to take the helmet. He stepped into the boots in front of him, then pulled on the helmet, letting it fill with the relay gel to accelerate the neural connection between him and the suit, and thus him and Mihashi - and, soon, the both of them and Big Windup.

Before they stepped out, Mihashi reached out, hand lightly grasping at Abe’s forearm. Abe looked, somewhat surprised, into steady, golden eyes. “Remember our tether,” he reminded, and Abe nodded, following behind as Mihashi led the way through the sliding doors and into the Simulator. Abe sighed out the nervous energy curling in his gut as he approached the left side of the rig, hands curling into fists and relaxing again as he stepped into place and let his boots click in. The rig rose, drilling into his armor to keep him secure, and he closed his eyes, thinking back to everything Shiga-sensei had said, everything Tajima had said. Focus on the tether. Let Mihashi begin the Drift. Let the kick happen in increments (whatever the fuck  _that_  meant).

“Starting up the Simulator. Commencing pilot-to-pilot protocol, Drift engaging in ten, nine - ” Hamada’s voice came in, and Abe looked over to Mihashi, whose eyes were closed and his mouth moving around words that Abe couldn’t hear but knew anyway. The same that he let chant through his mind, the tether that would keep them together the same burning  _need_  that he’d felt so many times surging in Mihashi’s body, searing the both of them inside out with clawing need the thought,  _I want to be in a Jaeger, I want to be in a Jaeger_  “ - four, three, two - “  _I want to be in a Jaeger, I want to b -_

And it worked, for a second, Abe’s head filled with ( - “ _I want to be in a Jaeger with Abe-kun, I want to be in a Jaeger with Abe-kun, I want -_ ) and maybe that was the hiccup Tajima had talked about, the single moment of a breath between jumping and hitting the cold water, but before he could pull his mind from their tether to test it he was crashing, except he wasn’t crashing because this was a baseball dugout and there was no crashing in a baseball dugout, there was nothing, not when you weren’t playing in the game, and Mihashi Ren was  _not_  playing in the game, not this time, and probably not ever again with how the other team was actually  _not scoring_  for a change ( _\- only because of that shitty catcher-_ ), and the baseball diamond looked so different here than it did when he was standing on the mound, how baseball felt so different here, how it felt like a punishment, like he was wearing a costume and dancing in front of a crowd of laughing on lookers ( -  _no, Mihashi, no one should laugh at you, you’re just fine, you’re such a good pitcher, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise -_ ), and his hand was so empty for the fact that it was summer and there was a baseball game going on, empty, empty, empty, just like he was, and he needed to get away, he wanted people to see him again, he  _needed to get away, he wanted to be in a Jaeger,_   _he wanted to be in a Jaeger, he wanted to be in a Jaeger -_

\- And then it was a different scene, not Mihashi’s, this time, but his own, the feeling of meeting Haruna’s eyes from across the mat, those huge eyes that had an excellent tilt and just cocky enough to make Abe want to punch him in the face, and really,  _really_ , of all the places for them to meet again it was  _here_ , years after Abe had finally stopped wearing only long-sleeved shirts out of shame that he wasn’t good enough to catch for Haruna ( -  _Haruna-san did that…? It looks painful, Abe-kun… You were hurting this much…? -_ ), and now here they were, in the Jaeger Academy again together, hands gripping tightly on their poles like they’d gripped each other’s shirts in middle school, the words as fierce in his memory as the clack of wood as they moved, fighting for blood, punishing, pushing, until the world was spinning and his side ached and the air in his chest rushed out, his lungs unable to expand both because of the impact and because of the fact that Haruna was in his lap, holy  _shit_  Haruna was  _in his lap_ , breathing hard, panting, heavy and hot, red-faced and sweating from exertion and grinning down at him, extending his hand to help him up, and “Looks like I got you again, Takaya,” and Abe didn’t take the offer, running instead to the bathroom, locking himself in a stall and letting the cool metal of the door hit his sweaty back, palms pressed to his flaming hot face as his body quivered in rage and that burning ache he’d  _sworn_ he’d left behind ( -  _Abe-kun…. you… you were… you like Haruna-san…? -_ ), left like baseball, like that sport he could barely stomach, unable even to watch it on television and sure as hell not able to play, but no, he could swallow this, he could make it work, he could push everything aside and hide it to be in a Jaeger, because more than anything else  _he wanted to be in a Jaeger, he wanted to be in a Jaeger, he wanted to be in a Jaeger, he wa -_

And then Abe fell out of the Drift, hard enough to knock the breath out of him as surely as Haruna had that day pinning him to the mat in combat, but not hard enough for him to suffer anything more than a slight disorientation upon coming back to his current moment. He shook his head, then closed his eyes and exhaled, letting his head fall back and hit the rig behind him. He reached a hand up, hitting the button to communicate with LOCCENT.

“Hamada, how was that?” he asked, releasing the button and waiting on the response.

“Better than before. Ten whole seconds of a good, solid Drift. Ninety seven percent. The fall wasn’t that bad, either. How are you feeling?” Hamada asked, and Abe assessed his body as much as he could while still attached to the rig.

“I’m fine. Mihashi?” he asked, looking over to the blond, who nodded. “Mihashi’s fine, too. We’re gonna call it quits, though. Hey, are you free tomorrow morning?”

“Tajima and Hanai come in around five thirty, so you’ll have to come in no earlier than six, but yeah, sure,” Hamada agreed, and Abe nodded despite the fact he knew Hamada couldn’t see.

“Perfect. See you then,” he agreed, letting his arm fall down to the side as the rig unscrewed itself from his armor. He stepped off, reaching up and taking the helmet off his head, shaking his hair free of the sweat that had collected. He looked over to see Mihashi doing the same thing, blinking rapidly and then sighing. “Mihashi,” Abe called, causing the blond to look up questioningly. “How did that go for you?”

“Um… I could hear you, in my memory,” he said, looking down at his helmet and letting his thumbs trace circles where he was holding it carefully. “I could hear you talking to me about it. I heard you call…” his shoulders hiked up, eyes filling to the brim with tears, “call me a good pitcher.”

Abe shifted his weight from one foot to the other, putting his helmet under his arm as he propped it on his hip. “Well, yeah. Of course I did. You  _are_  a good pitcher, Mihashi,” Abe said, and Mihashi’s face jerked side to side as he shook it furiously. “Hey, I wouldn’t lie about something like that. I seriously do think that. You should…” Abe huffed, looking to the side as the bitter feeling from earlier came once again unbidden to the back of his tongue. “…You should be playing right now. You should be pitching, in games. You’d kill it, Mihashi.”

“H-Haruna-san was…!” Mihashi started, and Abe felt the spike of defensive fire in his gut ignite just at the name.

“Haruna is  _nothing_  like you,” Abe bit, tone acrid even to his own ears, and he watched as Mihashi’s face pulled into a grimace like he’d been struck. Abe heaved out a sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Look, this… We’re still high on the emotions from the Drift. It happens. You get too deep into the memory and you remember everything and it takes a while for the feelings to trickle out, especially when you aren’t used to it. We should… go pitch, now.”

“Is… is that okay?” Mihashi asked, timidly, and Abe reached over to grind his knuckles into Mihashi’s temples tightly in a chastising twist for asking something so ridiculous, but changed his mind halfway there, instead cupping his cheeks and forcing him to make eye contact, because somehow it felt like that was the better thing to do in this situation, remembering how well Mihashi had responded earlier to Izumi’s compliment and wondering why  _his_  compliments didn’t have the same effect.

“Of course it’s okay. Why wouldn’t it be?” he asked, forcing the frown off his face and putting a grin on instead. “Come on. Let’s go get our gloves and in ten minutes, you’ll feel better.”

“Okay,” Mihashi said, and Abe released him, both walking out with a wave to Hamada back into the technician’s awaiting scramble, all of the armor coming off piece by piece. The walk to the locker room was the same silence as it was at lunch, but somehow, it had lost a bit of the glitter from earlier, and Abe felt his brows pull into a bit of a scowl with each second that passed by. It was impossible to put into words, the feeling beneath his skin, only that it was uncomfortable, and he didn’t like it. His legs felt wired and ready to burst away from him, throwing himself into a run if it meant getting rid of the nervous energy burning dully inside of his body.

The trek to their room was equally silent and, somehow, even more awkward, with both of them reaching for their keys at the door, then moving to put them away together, and then pulling them back out, until finally Abe pushed forward and unlocked their damn door. He dropped off his gym bag from earlier, swapping it out for his baseball glove, and watched as Mihashi grabbed his as well, and the bag of baseballs that was held by the blond as tenderly as he would a child. That had Abe’s mood picking up a bit more, and by the time they were in the elevator and on their way to the balcony, sure enough, the strange hangover from the Drift was gone and he felt back to normal.

Abe walked over to his place by the wall as Mihashi pulled his glove onto his hand, picking up a baseball and running his fingers in a caress over the threads. Abe watched, waiting for the blond to acquaint himself with the ball, getting into a crouch and massaging his glove until Mihashi was ready. Finally, the blond looked up, and Abe reached between his legs, signaling for a curve, low on the outside left. An easy ball to pitch, and an easy ball to catch. Mihashi wound up, leg lifting, and leaned forward, hand snapping in release, and the ball zoomed forward, straight into Abe’s awaiting mitt.

“Nice ball!” Abe shouted, taking the ball in his hand and letting his own fingers study the threading for a brief second. For a second, he wondered if he could still feel Mihashi’s lingering body heat clinging to the red string, and he felt the smile at the thought on his face before he threw the ball back, watching it sink into Mihashi’s glove as surely as it had pierced his own. Shiga-sensei had been right, Abe decided, signaling for a shoot, catching it effortlessly and throwing the ball back. This was the ideal activity for them; it was calming, it had them working together, and most importantly, it was  _baseball_  and it felt  _good_. It felt  _good_  to catch for Mihashi, to study each of his movements, try and see if he could pick out a quirk for him to warn the blond about (as if they were ever going to play another team, he reminded himself sourly before even that thought was chased out, all negativity purged at the sight of yet another beautiful pitch), each second a breathless moment of gold, white, red, and the drab olive palette of their military uniform that, if Abe closed his eyes, was so easily replaced with a baseball uniform.

Time passed, and Abe carefully counted out to eighty pitches, using Haruna’s old pitch limit as a guide not because Mihashi was in any way still growing, but because it was cathartic, almost, a number that he used to hate protecting something new, something… something precious. The moment the last ball sank into his glove, Abe stood, legs protesting slightly at the motion and Mihashi’s body relaxing out. He walked up to the blond, letting his glove fall to the ground, and he reached out, grabbing his arm and taking it into his careful hands to help him stretch.

“How’s it feel?” he asked, and Mihashi nodded, staring down at the ground steadily as he let Abe rotate the arm around. “And that?” Mihashi nodded again, and again when Abe repeated his question when pushing Mihashi’s hand back and forward to stretch out his wrist. He went through each of the old motions he used to use with Haruna, each old stretch that he’d memorized so much because each of Haruna’s eighty pitches had been absolutely precious when there were so few and even the slightest defect in cooling down would have the pitcher stepping down, an absolute failure on Abe’s behalf every time.

“I… think we should think of a new tether,” Mihashi said suddenly, and Abe looked up from where he’d been folding Mihashi’s wrist carefully, blinking into eyes that didn’t meet his own. “I… I don’t think that one was strong enough.”

“What do you mean? We had a solid Drift for ten seconds. We were in each other’s heads even though we were in memories,” Abe responded, and Mihashi hesitated for a moment. Abe sighed. “I don’t mean to say that I don’t agree. If we can think of a stronger tether, then I’m all ears. Just because I don’t automatically agree doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to say your opinion again.”

Mihashi made a small sound of acknowledgement, and Abe dropped the blond’s arm, exhaling a hot breath and getting ready to suggest they go take a shower, only to freeze when a blaring alarm ripped through the ambient noise of the base. Abe and Mihashi both stilled and locked eyes, one word tearing through their mind at the same time as if they were still Drifting: Kaiju.

“Mihashi, come on,” Abe said, shoulders tense despite the calm in his voice. They weren’t pilots, not yet - or at least, not together. It wasn’t out of the question that Marshal Momoe would put Suyama and Hanai in Striker Cleanup while either he or Mihashi took Big Windup with Tajima. Even still, they had a place to be. He grabbed his catcher’s mitt as Mihashi bent down and picked up his glove and the bag of baseballs, and Abe led the way back inside the base, Mihashi tight on his heels as they mingled out with the others going to their battle-time posts.

The elevator was oddly full of people, and Abe pushed in, reaching out and grabbing Mihashi to pull him in as well. He jerked his chin in the direction of the number pad. “Mihashi, you’re closer. Hit the button.” At his command, Mihashi turned and wiggled his arm through, muttering apologies until his fingers reached the button for the command floor and pushed. He then straightened, eyes focused wide on Abe’s face.

“Do… do you think Marshal will put us in the Jaeger?” Mihashi asked, voice soft. Abe shook his head.

“Not us, no. But depending on the fight, one of us might go with Tajima.” Mihashi’s face paled slightly, mouth pressing thin as his shoulders hitched up to his ears.

“I’m… I’m scared, Abe-kun… I’ve never… not for real…”

Abe swallowed thickly, reaching out and grasping Mihashi’s hand in his own. They were both still sweaty, and gross, and uncomfortably squished with the full elevator of chattering people as the alarm still blared through the entire Nishiura base, but the instant Abe’s fingers touched Mihashi’s, all of that fell away, leaving only him and the blond he suddenly realized was quivering as their palms pressed together.

“It’s… it’s scary, the first time,” Abe said, remembering how he’d been shaking himself that day, before the adrenaline calm of being in combat, before the surge of pain from having to balance battling a Kaiju in a Jaeger with the stupid need to hide stupid emotions. “It  _is_  scary. But you’re good, Mihashi. You’re  _good_.” Mihashi’s eyes lifted to his own, still wide and scared but going soft around the edges with disbelief. Abe clenched his fingers, threading them through Mihashi’s and holding their grip even tighter. “You’re better than me in the shooting range. You’re like… like a dancer in the Kwoon Combat Room. I’ve been in your head and I know how much you want to make this work. You can do it, Mihashi. You can pilot a Jaeger. You can win.”

A heartbeat passed in his throat, and then Mihashi’s hand tightened back on his own, painfully, and Abe was suddenly all-too aware that he’d reached out and grabbed Mihashi’s pitching hand. But he couldn’t let go, couldn’t tell Mihashi not to grip him so hard, not when Mihashi’s eyes finally solidified, his shoulders dropping and the shivering stopping. Instead, Abe returned the favor, squeezing as hard as he could, keeping that bewitching eye contact until there was vertigo in his stomach and the Kaiju alarm slowly filtered back through opening elevator doors. He glanced up, saw their floor number, then looked down to Mihashi and nodded once. Mihashi mirrored the motion, and though their gaze broke and their hands parted, a connection remained and Abe’s fingers tingled with the rush of blood.

The Kaiju alarm was not as loud in LOCCENT as it was in the hall, and Abe was slightly surprised to see Tajima and Hanai standing in the middle of the room next to Momoe, Suyama nowhere to be seen. He walked up, and Tajima looked over his shoulder, tossing him a wink and a thumb’s up before bumping into Hanai to get his attention. Hanai turned as well, and then finally Momoe, who looked at Abe with that careful predator smile of hers.

“It’s going north of here,” Momoe said, stance strong as she stood with wide hips gripped by powerful fingers. “Stay on standby in case its trajectory moves, but as far as we can tell, it’s going to Musashino.”

 _Haruna_ , Abe thought, eyes jerking to the display screen on the wall showing the map of the Kaiju’s path. As Momoe had said, the Kaiju was bearing north of their territory, dipping just into the edge of where Musashino picked up responsibility. He looked to another screen to see the Kaiju information, showing it clocking in at 3,000 tons and 60 meters. Codename was Algea, written out in English. He looked back at the map, and he felt his hands tighten on his catcher’s mitt. It was moving fast. They’d need 144 Sprinter to match that kind of speed. He wondered if Haruna had found a replacement yet, or if he was standing just like Abe was, in the middle of the LOCCENT there, hands in his pockets and frustrated look on his face that his stupid underclassman with the stupid crush forced him to drop out of the lineup.

“Musashino deploying two Jaegers - Valkyrie Alpha and 144 Sprinter advancing to the miracle mile,” someone called, watching the screen in front of them where they were monitoring communications with Musashino and Touri. Abe swallowed thickly, jaw tightening. There were three Jaeger teams at Musashino, and only two had been deployed - but 144 Sprinter was the Jaeger he’d shared with Haruna, and it had already been calibrated to his old pitcher’s movements. He glared hard at the screen despite knowing that looking at a map wouldn’t tell him who was piloting the Jaeger, and they didn’t have the visual on the battle that would let him guess from the fighting style. All he could do was wait for a news report or hope that the pilot names would be mentioned in the correspondence.

“Tajima-kun, Hanai-kun, report to your station in case Musashino calls for assistance. Get suited up and into the pod, then await further instructions,” Momoe said, and with a cheerful salute, Tajima was skipping off past them, but not without a grin and thumb’s up to Mihashi and a slap on the back for Abe. Abe watched them leave, then looked back to Momoe, who was staring hard at him. He was suddenly reminded of the fact that he had been under orders to increase a Drift score with Tajima and had, instead, been working on Drifting with Mihashi. He swallowed nervously under the weight of her cinnamon eyes. “Abe-kun, Mihashi-kun, you two wait here.”

Momoe turned back to the screens, and Abe let out a breath, more than a little relieved that he hadn’t gotten chewed out verbally but feeling her oppressive chastising all the same. But, if that was the extent of it, he definitely wasn’t going to give up making it work with Mihashi. Especially not with Izumi’s warning heavy in the back of his mind, knowledge that probably not even Momoe knew of the importance of the two of them clicking at last, that he and Mihashi were the only hope for Nishiura to keep Big Windup. Then again, Abe thought, looking back to her and narrowing his eyes, he wondered if  _that_  was the reason why she hadn’t said anything.

“Valkyrie Alpha engaging Algea,” Hamada said, eyes intent on the screen as the person next to him typed out the transcription of communications she was hearing. Of course, Abe thought, closing his eyes and seeing the fierce red of Valkyrie Alpha in his mind. She was huge and built for defense, equipped with a shield of thick reinforced carbon titanic steel and lined with at least three inches of lead paint in the thinnest places. Valkyrie Alpha was built to be a tank, a beautiful distraction, and was always the first to engage in anti-Kaiju maneuvers. Her pilots, Mitashita and Ookawa, wouldn’t have it any other way. Following that, then - “144 Sprinter now engaging Algea.” He and Haruna would attack the distracted Kaiju. That had always been the method of attack, and it seemed that nothing had changed in their loss of a pilot. Abe’s eyes locked onto the marker for 144 Sprinter on the map, and he knew, then, that Haruna was inside.

“Is that… Haruna-san?” Mihashi asked, tugging on his sleeve to get his attention quietly, and Abe nodded. “But I thought… Abe-kun…”

“It’s him,” Abe said definitively. He tried to think about who else was there at Musashino, which of the Ranger Cadets were thanking Abe for leaving and allowing them to step into the shoes he’d abandoned, but no faces came to mind. Only Haruna’s, bold and cocky and one step from death but never quite getting there. “I don’t know who his new partner is, but that’s him.”

Mihashi’s mouth clamped shut, and he looked back to the screen along with Abe, LOCCENT much quieter with the periphery battle than it was when their own Jaegers were engaged. As it was, other than the rapid clicks of the transcriber’s keyboard taking down all of the communications for P.P.D.C. records and a few murmurs, there were no noises other than the usual beeps of equipment. Without visual, they couldn’t see the action live, and since they didn’t have the Jaeger sensors for Valkyrie Alpha and 144 Sprinter, they were blind but for whatever they could get from Musashino itself.

It was a long ten minutes until finally the light for Algea blinked off the map, Valkyrie Alpha and 144 Sprinter still on strong, and everyone exhaled a breath of relief. Another Kaiju eliminated. Even if it hadn’t been their own base, the cheer was definitely palpable among everyone. Humanity had survived another day. Haruna had survived another day and, knowing how the battle plans worked out, had just bagged himself his second Kaiju kill. Abe felt his hands tighten into fists, his blood pressure mounting and his throat feeling odd and hollow.

“Good job, everyone. Hamada-kun, please tell Tajima-kun and Hanai-kun they’re free to go. Shinooka-chan, call Nishihiro-kun, get him the details. I’m sure he’s probably on his way to my office, now,” Momoe called out, and Abe turned around, leaving LOCCENT and stepping out into the hall with an odd weightless feeling in his head as blood pounded and rushed and gave him the strangest urge to scream at the top of his lungs.

“Abe-kun…?” Mihashi’s voice came, and Abe looked at him, exhaling sharply and holding on to the catcher’s mitt tight in his grasp for grounding. For his tether, to Mihashi, to anything other than this boiling inside of him.

“Yeah, let’s… let’s go get cleaned up and get some dinner,” Abe suggested, and Mihashi followed after nodding, taking his place at Abe’s left side, pushing the button for the elevator to call it to them, and again to take them down to their floor. This time, Mihashi opened their room when they got to it, and his voice softly suggested that Abe take the first shower. Abe nodded, putting his glove on the dresser next to their bunk beds and turning into the bathroom.

He cranked on the water as soon as the door shut behind him, stripping off his shirt and tossing it into the laundry basket. He then looked into the mirror, eyes falling as they always did to the network of burn lines on his side. Usually, he ignored them and moved on to whatever had him looking into the mirror in the first place, but today, today he reached up a hand and touched them, felt the raised skin, the memory of the ugliness inside of him tangible and real, the constant reminder of almost killing someone he’d cared about in his own way, killing himself,  _millions_  of people with his selfishness. He gripped his side tight, then released, watching the skin flush red from the pinch, and then he huffed out because the mirror was beginning to steam and perhaps that was his cue to stop brooding.

The shower was satisfying, and he stepped out after he was clean and wrapped the towel around his waist. He opened the door and watched as the steam billowed out into their room, only to hear the unfamiliar noises of the television. He turned and saw that Mihashi had turned on the news and was curled up on the couch. Abe walked forward, saw the wide eyes Mihashi had and the odd expression on his face, but before he could say anything, there was a voice in his room he thought he’d never hear again.

“Valkyrie Alpha did a good job, letting us do  _our_  job. It was a good, team effort.”

Abe looked to the television screen, and sure enough, standing in his armor, helmet tucked under his arm and hair blowing in the ocean wind where the news reporter had caught Haruna on Musashino’s famous open-air launch bay was none other than Haruna Motoki, melty caramel eyes and the kind of cocky grin that had even the newscaster shimmering in her shoes. Abe knew that feeling all too well; something about being in a presence that big was… intoxicating.

“It was a beautiful fight. We owe you four a great debt of thanks for continuing to protect the city,” the newscaster said, and Abe finally took his eyes off of Haruna’s smiling face to see Mitashita and Ookawa standing side by side, the latter at the end of what looked like some kind of attempt at a stealth chastising, and then to Haruna’s side, someone Abe sort of recognized, buzzcut and with eyes as big as his relieved grin. Kagu-something. Abe sat down on the couch next to Mihashi’s curled up form, waiting for the name to come, waiting with screamingly tense shoulders for his own name to come up, the question he knew was just begging on the tip of the newscaster’s tongue, the  _‘Where’s Abe Takaya?’_  he knew was coming. There was a brief clip the news helicopter had managed to catch, and Abe watched, recognizing Haruna’s overly powerful moves in 144 Sprinter wailing into Algea as Valkyrie Alpha held on tightly, keeping the Kaiju from escaping the final blows.

“It could have gone a little smoother, and we all have a lot to work on, but the important thing is that people are safe,” Ookawa said, stepping forward and obviously glowering at Haruna for taking up the camera’s attention. Abe leaned forward in his seat, hands coming up to cover his nose and mouth as the camera cut back to the newscaster and her bright pearly-white smile. She said a few more words of gratitude and praise for the 144 Sprinter and Valkyrie Alpha team combo, and with one last cut of the four victorious Jaeger pilots, the news cut to commercial.

“It was… Kaguyama… san,” Mihashi said, looking over at Abe and blinking slowly. “Haruna-san’s new partner, um, his name, he said…” Abe nodded, the name familiar in the sense that he’d probably been in the Academy with the guy, but only able to put a face to the name because of the news cast. A news cast where Haruna had looked…. happy. Powerful. All of those things he hadn’t been when they’d parted ways… those things he’d never been. Not really. Not around Abe. “Um… Abe-kun…?” Mihashi asked delicately, reaching out, and for a brief moment, Abe, halfway into a memory of Haruna’s movements, flinched. He realized what had happened a second too late, and Mihashi jerked back as if Abe’s bare shoulder had scorched him. “Oh… I-I… I’ll… shower… now,” Mihashi said, voice stuttering and unsure, and Abe could do little more than nod, unable to watch as Mihashi stood from the couch and walked into the bathroom, the shut of the door final in Abe’s ears.

Abe buried his face in his hands, the question heavy on his tongue, and he wondered, for a moment, if he’d be able to ask Mihashi, if he could find the guts, if he even really wanted to know if Haruna had mentioned him at all.


	16. reversal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [eyes the fact that my chapter lengths on average are getting longer] well then.
> 
> thanks everyone for the support as always, and a reminder that i have an 8tracks for the fic [here](http://8tracks.com/blondnepeta/break-on-the-willow-shore) and to keep up to date with [my tumblr tag](http://blondnepeta.tumblr.com/tagged/oofuri-pacific-rim-au) for the fic here for headcanons, art, and general explanations (but after the most recent chapter as it will be filled with spoilers, likely). or if you're just interested in the art, you can check the masterpost [here](http://blondnepeta.tumblr.com/oofuriprau) since i link to all the (tumblr-posted) art there. i had some people asking me about where to find stuff so those are the places to look.
> 
> enjoy~~

Despite the fact that all of the lights were off in their room and his body was bone-tired from working out and pitching, Abe stared at the bottom of Mihashi’s bunk bed above him, hands behind his head and feet tangled with his sheet as a muted buzz filled the space between his ears. His eyes had adjusted in the long stretch of darkness, allowing him to make out the indentions of the springs where Mihashi’s slight weight was sinking into his mattress, still with the soft hiccupy exhales just barely gracing Abe’s ears.

Abe sighed, closing his eyes for what felt like the ten thousandth time that night, focusing on clearing his mind so he could try to sleep. He concentrated on each of his breaths, the chilled air of a infant spring filtering through the vents and carrying with it the salty crisp of an ocean-side base filling his lungs before he exhaled them out, as slowly and purposefully as he’d taken them in. He let his ears fill with the ambient noises of the room: Mihashi’s breathing, the muted noises of the nighttime shift working, the occasional swish of water through the pipes in the walls, the faint hum of the central air system keeping the air circulated and fresh five stories beneath the surface.

Ten minutes later, Abe’s eyes opened yet again, defeated.

With a soft groan of the mattress beneath him, Abe sat up, stepping out of bed and standing in the middle of the room. He ran his hand through his hair, his toes wiggling on the cold hard floor and his dog tags clinking together slightly with his arm movement. He grabbed his phone and unplugged it from where it sat on the dresser, walking over to their couch and pacing about as he checked the time. It was just past three in the morning, and Abe huffed out a breath, pulling up the internet to try and bore himself into sleeping.

He avoided the news sites, knowing exactly what would be the headline everywhere he looked. Haruna Motoki and his dangerously fierce battle style in the fastest of the Mark III line, bagging his second kill to date with the help of the ever-stalwart Valkyrie Alpha.   That didn’t leave his options too open, and after a few moments, he clicked into one of the more neutral websites, hoping that he could click into the sports section or something quickly without having to see anything -

Abe was many things, but he was not lucky. His phone loaded the picture quickly from the super awesome wifi he’d heard Izumi praise more than once, and his finger froze from where he was about to skip forward to the sports to catch up on the early baseball stats when a pair of familiar eyes locked with his own across the screen. It had probably been taken on the open-air dock, he noted, watching how Haruna’s hair had tousled in the wind and his hand had come up to hold it out of his face. He had that cocky grin on his face, the same he’d had on the television broadcast, the same Abe had seen that afternoon in the R.A.B.I.T. he’d pulled Mihashi into, the same that had been a baffling, shivery delight to his confused middle school self the first time he’d seen it after a year of snarls and glares. High cheekbones that belonged to a model, not a soldier, and a quirk of his eyebrows that showed he had probably just been teasing something fierce.

“Abe-kun…?” a soft voice suddenly said, and Abe looked up from his phone to see Mihashi standing at the edge of the couch, rubbing his face in sleepiness. His other hand was tugging on his boxers to pull them up a bit, tugging his white tank top down to make himself decent. He had bags under his eyes big enough for a week-long vacation, despite the fact that he’d been sleeping for a few hours to Abe’s count, visible even in the tiny light from Abe’s phone. He shut it, clutching it in his fist and exhaling. “Can’t sleep?”

Abe shook his head, letting his head fall against the back of the couch. He closed his eyes, and even in the darkness, or perhaps because of it, Haruna’s face was somehow even closer than it had been the last time he’d seen it in person, one step away from punching it. And then, Abe felt an inquisitive sinking of the couch next to him, and when he opened his eyes and looked over, Mihashi was sitting as far away from him as he could, legs drawn up to his chest and fingers holding his ankles nervously. His eyes were wide in the darkness, their usual hazel a shade darker in the black of the room where their alarm clock’s face cast the entire room in a soft, barely noticeable shade of blue.

“You should go back to sleep, Mihashi,” Abe said, huffing out. He kept his voice quiet despite the fact that they were the only two in the room, hoping that Mihashi hadn’t woken up completely and he could crawl back up into his bunk and fall right back asleep. One of them unable to sleep was bad enough.

But Mihashi surprised him by shaking his head, hands tightening more on his ankles as his eyes lifted to Abe’s face, then down to the phone where Abe was still clutching it to keep from throwing it against the wall. “Were you… looking at Haruna-san in the news?” Mihashi asked, and Abe looked to him, the jolt of surprise in his body as real as if he’d touched a live wire.

“How’d you know? I mean, not on purpose, no, but…” Abe looked away, unclenching his fist and turning his phone over in his hand while he watched it mindlessly. There was a heartbeat of silence between them, and Abe exhaled in defeat. “It’s kind of hard to avoid, I guess. He did just take down a Kaiju, today, after all.” Haruna was kind of hard to avoid, his gut said, the grimace on his mouth as true as if the words had crossed his lips.

“Um, you… you have a face. When you think about him,” Mihashi said, fingers plucking at his toes.

“A  _face_?” Mihashi nodded, and Abe felt the twist of… something, he didn’t know what, in his gut. “What kind of face?” As soon as the question came out, Abe could have smacked himself. He was absolutely  _not_  intent on keeping Mihashi up with him, and asking the blond about his  _face_  was not a good way to get the idiot to go back to sleep.

And yet, now that he’d asked, he really was curious. He looked up to Mihashi’s expression, saw how Mihashi’s teeth grabbed his lower lip gently, eyes hard and intent on his knees before he darted them over to Abe, then back again. “It’s… I’m not sure I know a word for it,” Mihashi admitted, fingers moving from his toes up to clutch at his bare shins. “But I know it. I can tell.” And then, Mihashi’s eyes slowly lifted and met his own, and Abe was once again met with a new expression of Mihashi’s he’d never seen before, a quiet reminder that it had been all but two weeks they’d known each other, and even living together, being together at all hours of the day, being in each other’s minds - even all that had left mysteries, still. “I think… I think you still want… Haruna-san.”

The breath knocked out of Abe’s chest as much as if Mihashi had punched him in the diaphragm. “How can you possibly think that’s true?!” he said, hearing the edge of hysteria in his tone. Mihashi tightened into an even tighter position, hands going pale with the force of their grip on his legs to pull them to his chest.

“I - I saw it! You… You  _like_  him, Abe-kun! And today, today you… you  _knew_  it was him, even before…!” Mihashi’s face buried into his knees, his voice muffled even through their boney nature, but Abe could still make out every word as much as if Mihashi was whispering them straight into his ear. “It… it would be better, for you. If Haruna-san was… If I wasn’t… If you were…!”

“Mihashi!” Abe snarled, phone dropping as he reached over and snatched Mihashi’s wrist. He pulled against the force of Mihashi’s resistance, using both hands to pull Mihashi’s arm closer, leaning over and pressing their palms together, fingers gripping what was certainly too tightly when he felt the icy indifference between them, neither of their palms too different, both cold. Mihashi’s head refused to lift, however, shoulders drawn up. “Mihashi,  _look_  at me, damn it.”

Mihashi shook his head, and for a second, Abe felt his teeth grind together in frustrated rage. But before he could say anything, there was a twitch in the fingers against his own, and then Mihashi’s fingers clutched back. The blond was shivering, Abe realized, breaths shallow and puffy and familiar, and it occurred to Abe suddenly that perhaps Mihashi  _hadn’t_  been sleeping the last few hours. Abe exhaled sharply, closing his eyes and looking down at Mihashi’s grip on his own, tight as if it was the only thing keeping him from drowning. And then, a thought, a whisper in the back of his mind that sounded irritatingly like Shiga-sensei, and with a single lick of his lips, Abe let their clasped hands fall to the couch in defeat.

“You’re right about Haruna,” Abe said, each word prickling in his throat almost painfully. The words he’d thought before, but never really analyzed, came to his mind piece by piece, so slowly they were hardly a sentence. And then they strung together like all-too bright lights, the words  _I like Haruna Motoki_ , and as he closed his eyes, he let his grip on Mihashi’s hand go from a live-saving tether to something softer, until it almost felt like Mihashi was the one comforting him, now. “You’re right about it, but… I’m not at Musashino anymore. I  _chose_  to come here. And I choose to make it work between us. I  _want_  to Drift with you, Mihashi.” Abe bit out a scoff of a laugh. “Sure is a hell of a lot easier than trying to talk to you.”

“Sorry,” Mihashi mumbled, but Abe didn’t bother telling him that it wasn’t something he needed to apologize for, partially because Mihashi really  _was_  a pain in the ass to talk to, and partially because it was at that moment that Mihashi’s grip loosened and his thumb slowly traced a line at the base of Abe’s palm where they were still touching. It was an inquisitive touch, and somehow, it felt like an apology too, and this one Abe didn’t want to turn away. Mihashi spoke again, softly, voice a croak in the night. “Why did you… When I ran away, you asked Marshal to… But you still…?”

Abe’s eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling he could barely make out, tracing the shadows from the light of the alarm clock and the quiet hum of the base around them. He sighed so softly he felt the breath leave but didn’t hear it. “You remember how I told you about how I fell out of the Drift when I went on my first real drop?” Abe asked, and he heard the soft movements of Mihashi’s nod. “It was my fault. Haruna’s an unstable shit in the Drift, don’t get me wrong, but I was the one who…”

The tender swipe of Mihashi’s thumb on his hand paused. “Abe-kun…?”

A second of hesitation, and then Abe continued, because he was  _tired._  Tired of all of this bottled inside, tired of Drifts that never worked, tired of partners he never quite met halfway. “I didn’t want Haruna to know how I felt about him. I thought it might mess up our partnership, and more than anything else, I wanted to be in a Jaeger. So I just. I bottled it up, and whenever we would try to Drift, I’d pull away whenever he got too close to that part of my head.” Now that the words were coming out, Abe felt as if he was deflating after years of being far too full. Relief spread from his fingertips where Mihashi was still against him all the way down to his too-cold toes in the springtime air. “Our Drift score could have probably gone up seven to ten points easy, if I hadn’t been a coward. But I was, and it made our Drift hard. It’s heavy, when you pair up with a Jaeger. Like you’re moving through drying cement. Painfully heavy.”

Mihashi’s thumb resumed its tender sweeps after a breath, and then a soft voice, “It hurts…?”

“Not if you do it right. Not if you’re not stupid like I was and try to pull away all the time. There was a second there, when we were fighting, and…” Abe closed his eyes, remembered exactly how it felt to have the  _full_  Drift, the complete connection with Haruna, every inch of their brains in complete and total sync. Even with someone like Haruna, someone on a different plane, someone he’d never really clicked with - even with Haruna, it had been… incredible. “We were doing a tough maneuver, so I reflexively stopped pulling back. He saw everything, and I dropped out when I realized it. When I came to, he told me he’d pulled us out of rotation to get himself a new partner. He was doing what he thought was right for the base, instead of what would keep him in a Jaeger. What would keep us both alive.”

“So, Abe-kun was…?” Mihashi started, and Abe nodded his head.

“I thought that it would be safer if I had someone else to Drift with. For everyone. Someone more… textbook. And I still think I’m right, but…” But something had changed, Abe continued in his mind, unable to be honest with Mihashi when he himself didn’t even understand what was happening. It was still true, the feeling that Drifting with Mihashi was dangerous, that this… thing between them, this fragile thing was unstable, not ideal. But it was also true that he  _wanted_  this, even as unsure as it was. And maybe, somehow, he’d managed to subconsciously convince himself that was enough.

Abe looked over to look at Mihashi to continue, but the words melted away to nothing when he saw Mihashi’s eyes tracing over his left side down the network of burn markings. And then, Mihashi’s hand wiggled free from their grasp, and Abe held his breath, startled from air as Mihashi’s fingertips traced over the raised flesh. Reverently, Mihashi’s eyes followed each line his finger mapped, beginning at Abe’s stomach and down to his hip, then back up, to his shoulder, goosebumps filling the spaces between them as Abe stared, eyes as wide as Mihashi’s in this fragile closeness. He couldn’t look away from Mihashi’s face, the way his lips were slightly parted, brow smooth despite the meticulous study of Abe’s past pain, exploring each inch of Abe’s scars like they meant something to him, like he was reading a book line by line, memorizing the words. Abe swallowed thickly, throat curiously tight suddenly, body taut against a need to reach out and return the favor, somehow, though he wasn’t quite sure he knew how.

And then Mihashi drew his hand back down his arm, down to the hand Abe had abandoned in favor of directing all his attentions to where Mihashi had been caressing him, and he wove their fingers together again. It was a different grasp than before, different from the one where Abe had tried to pull Mihashi out of his shell, different from the one where Mihashi had been comforting Abe through the bearing of a deep part of himself he’d hardly acknowledged himself. It was no longer cold, for either of them, and their palms, both as warm as a summer day, were the same temperature. It was what holding hope felt like, Abe thought with a twist of a smile on his lips.

“Shiga-sensei was right,” Abe admitted suddenly, staring at where their hands were resting on the couch cushion, between his thigh and Mihashi’s foot where the blond was still curled in on himself. “I’m going to trust you, Mihashi. So you trust me too, okay?”

Mihashi made a soft noise Abe couldn’t decipher. “I’ve always… trusted Abe-kun,” Mihashi responded carefully, twisting Abe’s stomach into an odd shape. He really had, Abe realized; from the moment he’d trusted Abe to catch his pitch without safety gear, the moment Abe had told him they were Drift compatible, that they could Drift even though Mihashi had never Drifted before - every moment from their meeting until now, even when it had hurt to do so, Mihashi had trusted him. He hadn’t, however, trusted himself, and it was in that moment, with that quiet revelation, when Abe wondered if he’d discovered something crucial. Something exciting.

Abe tightened his hold on Mihashi’s hand, squeezing it firmly, then stood from the couch and used their mingling fingers to pull Mihashi off the couch to stand next to him. “Come on. Let’s try to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a busy day.”

“Okay,” Mihashi said, and it was only when Mihashi needed both hands to get into his bed that their hands separated, Abe slipping into his bed and sighing out into the dark. He brought his hand in front of his face, staring at the place where his skin was still warm from heat that wasn’t just his own, and he clenched it into a tight fist to keep it in his skin as long as he could.

\----------

Shinooka huffed out a breath as she stepped onto the elevator, blowing her bangs out of her face for but a brief moment before they drifted back into her eyes. She reached up and tucked the strands behind her ears, wishing not for the first time that she’d put her hair up with all of the running around she was doing today.

The fourth floor came and she stepped off, walking down the hall and stopping to swipe her identification card at the sliding doors. They parted, and the noise of the shatterdome filled the space around her, the dome as bustling and filled with activity as ever. She danced around a few people who were rushing about to get their jobs done, toes barely missed getting run over by not one, but two cargo carts (Tuesday mornings were drill mornings, after all, she remembered, sighing out yet again as the thought  _Why couldn’t this wait until tomorrow when things would be less hectic, Marshal_ crossed her mind not for the first time, or probably even the third or fourth time). Frazzled before she even got to the hanger bays, Shinooka looked up at the giant mecha and just about lost it.

Mizutani was hanging upside down from his scaffolding by what looked like a simple harness, red hair pulled back in a ponytail and showing the huge tacky headphones. His arms were stretched out as he dug around in the area around the nuclear turbine, a metal panel pulled off so he could mess with the wiring, from the looks of it. To top the entire thing off to perfection, he didn’t appear to be wearing any shoes, his socks two wildly different patterns visible even from down where she was standing, and he was belting out what sounded like a cheesy love pop song.

“Mizutani-kun!” Shinooka shouted, cupping her hand around her mouth and hoping that calling out to him wouldn’t cause him to startle and mess up whatever delicate balance of physics he seemed to have going on, but probably because of the fact that he was listening to music, he didn’t seem to hear her. She lowered her hand, about to look around for someone to ask how the hell to get his attention when a heavy weight pressed on her shoulder.

“Hold on, Shinooka, I’ll get him,” Sakaeguchi said, face bright as he smiled down at her. She returned the gesture, watching as Sakaeguchi stepped around her to the bottom of the scaffolding. There was a panel there, and Shinooka watched, curious, only to realize when Sakaeguchi reached out for a lever what was going to happen.

“S-Sakaeguchi-kun!” Shinooka said, reaching out to stop him a split second too late. The scaffolding’s hydraulics twitched, causing Mizutani several stories above them to swing about, a horrendous squawking noise that sounded more appropriate from Mihashi’s mouth than Mizutani’s filling the space around them. He reached up, pulling his headphones off his ears and looking down, then he flashed Sakaeguchi a thumb’s up. Shinooka covered her mouth with her hands, watching as Mizutani curled up with his abs, grabbing the harness to hold on as the scaffolding came down, and by the time the platform had descended all the way to the floor, he was standing up on the flat metal flooring, unbuckling the harness around his loose-fitting mechanic’s outfit and grabbing a cloth to wipe off his greasy hands as he jumped down. Not working on wiring then, Shinooka guessed, lowering her hands from her mouth and exhaling in relief.

“Oh, hey, Shinooka!” Mizutani greeted, face breaking into a grin and face red from where the blood had rushed to it while he’d been hanging upside down. He had a grease smear on his cheek, but she decided not to point it out, instead crouching down to pick up her clipboard where she’d dropped it in her panic. “What’s up?”

“I’m just coming down to check up on how Striker Cleanup’s repair is coming along,” she said, and Mizutani put his hands on his hips, turning slightly to look at the Jaeger over his shoulders before beaming back down at her.

“Ahead of schedule, actually! It’ll be combat-ready back to one hundred percent by lunchtime, unless anything serious comes up that wasn’t on the preliminary damage report,” Mizutani said, wiping his hands off more before he reached into his pocket and paused his music on his mp3 player. “Which, considering I have a report due, uh, tomorrow, I sure hope is the case.”

“You still haven’t finished it?” Sakaeguchi said, coming forward from where he’d been standing at the base of the scaffolding, and Mizutani sent him a huffy pout.

“ _No_ I  _haven’t_  because I’ve been working on the oil lines to the nuclear turbines,” Mizutani said, arms crossing. He then made a soft nervous noise, reaching up to tug nervously on his hair. “I’m kinda cutting it close this time, though. I was actually wondering if I could get Izumi to do some of the standard parts, to be honest - ”

“Oh, hell no.” Shinooka looked over her shoulder to see none other than Izumi himself walking up, spinning a wrench on the side of his hand with an occasional flick of his thumb. He looked at her, and nodded once. “Yo, Shinooka. Punch this guy for me, won’t you?”

“No way. Have you  _seen_  her when she’s mad? She’d kick my ass,” Mizutani whined, and Shinooka rolled her eyes while Izumi shot her a knowing grin, pulling her pen off her shirt and clicking it. Spotting the gesture as her wordless reminder that she was here on business, Mizutani shot Izumi a nasty look, then turned his attention back to her. “Yeah, anyway, as I said, lunch time today, for sure. You can tell Momokan I’ll get her a full repair report after I finish the report for P.P.D.C.”

“Sure thing,” Shinooka hummed, making a note to tell Momoe about the repair schedule and also about the slight delay of the repair report. “Anything else to report before I head on back up?”

Mizutani shook his head, and Shinooka clicked her pen again before hooking it back on her shirt. Next to her, Sakaeguchi cleared his throat, looking around the Shatterdome before he leaned in closer, hand lifting to hide his mouth from anyone not standing in their little circle while he whispered to her. “Hey, Shinooka, did you happen to catch Tajima and Hanai’s interview with the Rolling Stone?”

“Oh, sort of. I had to screen it for Momoe but I didn’t pay too much attention, honestly. Why, what’s up?” she asked, watching with a curious expression as Sakaeguchi looked to Mizutani and Izumi, who both had cat-ate-the-canary expressions on their face. She hesitated for a moment, then looked back to Sakaeguchi, eyebrow lifted. “Did something happen?”

“Well, that’s the question,” Sakaeguchi said, smiling cheesily as he leaned back and scratched his cheek in embarrassment. “See, I was watching with Shouji, and I kind of noticed that… well… how to put it…”

“Just go back and watch it again. You’ll see it,” Izumi said, mouth pulling into a crooked grin that was positively devious. Shinooka nodded, then looked to Mizutani just in time to see the red head’s eyes flicker down to Izumi’s mouth for a split second before looking to her, the action either subconscious or purposefully hidden. She stared for a moment at Mizutani’s face, long enough for him to blink at her, perplexed, before she smiled and shook her head.

“Okay, I’ll go back and check it out. Besides silly gossip, anything?” Sakaeguchi looked at her as if she’d scandalized him, and Izumi shook his head at the same time as Mizutani, and she nodded, holding her clipboard against her chest. “Okay. I’ll see you three around, right? And Sakaeguchi-kun, tell Suyama-kun I said hi, and if he needs me in the Kwoon Combat Room I have a meeting until three but I can meet him to monitor then.” Sakaeguchi waved and Shinooka returned the gesture, turning and stepping away from the three boys to go back to the elevator. Curiosity, however, had her pausing, and she looked over her shoulder just in time to see Sakaeguchi pull out his cell phone (probably to tell him that she was busy until three), while Mizutani reached over and hooked an arm around Izumi’s neck, giving him a noogie until Izumi reached up to pinch his cheeks and pull. She could sort of read Izumi’s lips, and for a moment, she wondered if she saw her name, or if she was just imagining it. Shaking her head and somehow feeling a little breathless, Shinooka turned back around and continued on her trek back upstairs.

As soon as she was in the elevator, she glanced down at her watch and saw that she had about twenty minutes before her meeting with Momoe. Not long enough to do anything productive, really, but definitely too long for her to want to go sit around doing nothing while Momoe did who-knows-what in her office. With a sigh, Shinooka fiddled with her bangs, then headed straight to her room instead of the meeting room as planned.

Shinooka unlocked her door and stepped inside, putting her clipboard down on her desk as she tapped the keyboard and woke up her laptop. She typed in her password, then searched for the video footage of Tajima and Hanai’s interview with the Rolling Stone on Youtube. She put her hands on her cheeks and propped her elbows on her desk, turning up the volume and watching as the two pilots posed for a few pictures before sitting down on a couch next to each other. They almost looked out of place, wearing their formal uniforms, too much like the rock stars the world knew them as and not the goofy pair she knew in person. She listened to the brief chatter at the beginning of their long history together, blah blah blah, and she sighed out in irritation at Sakaeguchi and the two idiot mechanics for putting her on some silly rewatch of a video she’d already seen when -

Shinooka reached out and slapped a finger on the spacebar, eyes suddenly wide on the frozen picture of Tajima’s laugh. But more interestingly, she looked to Hanai, who was rather blatantly (well, not  _blatantly_ , perhaps) staring at Tajima’s mouth. Very much like she’d caught Mizutani staring at  _Izumi’s_  mouth. Very much like she had seen Sakaeguchi and Suyama stare at each other’s mouths.

“No way,” she said, hitting the play button and now focusing intently on the two pilot’s eyes instead of what they were saying, and seconds later, it was Tajima, this time, whose eyes were locked onto Hanai’s mouth and his expression dying from the silly expression to something a little more… how to describe it…  _lovestruck,_ her mind supplied, but that was  _ridiculous_ , wasn’t it?

Shinooka allowed herself fifteen minutes of the interview, counting no less than six times each that the two pilots had looked at each other in some kind of scandalous manner, Hanai even once going so far as to lick his own lips and turn a subtle pink. Just enough so that someone who knew him and someone who was looking for it would notice. Shinooka’s hands came around to cover her mouth where it was hanging wide open, pausing the video one last time as she stood and pushed away from her desk. This time, the video was paused on where the two pilots were looking at each other, and undeniably, there was… there was definitely  _something_  there, something in their faces, something that could perhaps be written off as some kind of copilot magic, but now that she’d talked to the three foxes downstairs, she could only see as one thing.

Her hand reached over to her phone, fingers flirting with the buttons to text Sakaeguchi and ask if that was what he’d meant, if that was what she was supposed to see, but she stopped, not wanting to put anything about it in writing until she was sure. A phone call later, then, or maybe Suyama would call her asking for an officiator for his and Hanai’s Kwoon Combat Room afternoon session and she could ask him since apparently he’d noticed it too.

Shinooka sighed, grabbing her clipboard and leaving her room to walk down the hall to the meeting room. Her phone vibrated then made the sound for a new text, and she looked down as she walked to her meeting with Momoe, spotting Abe’s name on the screen with mild interest. It hadn’t been since he’d been looking for the recruits’ hanging grounds that he’d contacted her, so she pulled up the message.

[Abe Takaya]  
[7:25am: Is there an indoor track Mihashi and I can use?]

Shinooka blinked down at the message, pausing in the middle of the hall as she read the text again. She tapped the side of her phone with a finger, mind going through the different levels of the building as she tried to think of where there might be something, but for some reason, her mind was coming up blank. Making a frustrated sound into the hall, she typed out a response.

[Shinooka Chiyo]  
[7:26am: I’m not sure. I think there’s one, but I’ll check for sure and let you know!!]

[Abe Takaya]  
[7:26am: Thanks]

Shinooka locked her phone and tucked it into her pocket, once again clutching her clipboard to her chest as she continued down the hall once more, staring down the expanse and yet not really seeing. She bit down on her lip gently, turning into the meeting room and physically shaking her head to clear it of the odd fog that had somehow settled in to distract her. Mizutani had been right about her when she was angry, yes, but she had  _nothing_  on Momoe, and she was not in any kind of mood to get chewed out right now.

\----------

Another morning of using a treadmill instead of an actual track after Shinooka had failed him for the first time since he’d known her, Abe wiped the sweat off his face and smothered a frustrated noise into the towel clutched to his cheeks. He looked over to Mihashi, as red-faced as he always got after heavy exertion, but he’d managed to keep up for sure, and Abe couldn’t deny the pride in his chest even if he’d wanted to. They’d done another eight kilometers after breakfast, and considering that Abe suspected that Mihashi had gotten about as much sleep the previous night as he had, that was excellent for the both of them.

“Do you want to go try to Drift right now or go to the range, first?” Abe asked as he walked to the showers, Mihashi stuck to his side close enough for Abe to feel their post-exercise body heat mingling between them. Mihashi wrapped his towel around his neck, rubbing his cheeks as he looked at Abe with wide golden eyes.

“Can we… Let’s Drift, first. But we should talk about our tether… because I wanna try a new one!” he said, and Abe nodded, tossing his dirty towel into the laundry basket and grabbing a clean one to head to the showers. To his surprise, Mihashi followed directly behind, getting in the shower next to him and turning on the water at the same time.

“What were you thinking? For a tether, I mean,” Abe said, grabbing some of the generic shampoo from a dispenser and lathering up his sweat-soaked hair. He wanted to look at Mihashi and gauge his facial expression, but he’d gotten this stuff in his eyes before and there was no way he was going to risk half a day blind again just to make this conversation a little easier.

“Well, I’ve been thinking,” Mihashi started, and Abe swallowed back a sarcastic comment as hard as he could to keep Mihashi talking and not feeling like Abe thought negative things about him. “I was wondering… what if we used baseball?”

“Baseball?” Abe repeated incredulously, and this time his eyes did open, and he looked over at Mihashi to see his face scrunched up tightly, fingers working the suds through his blond hair and face still a little pink. “What made you think baseball?”

Abe leaned forward to put his head under the water to wash out the shampoo, straining his ears to hear Mihashi’s voice over the sloshing water. “Um, well… it’s something we have in common, and… I really like it, and there was at least… Before, I thought you liked it, when I saw the memory, so…”

“So, ‘I like baseball’ as a tether?” Abe repeated, and there was silence in the bathroom as Mihashi stepped under the stream of water himself. Abe peered over at Mihashi as he ran a sudsy washcloth over his fatigued muscles, and then Mihashi stepped back, eyes wide as they locked with his.

“I was also thinking… we shouldn’t use words,” he said softly but firmly, and once again, Abe paused, staring at Mihashi across the waist-high tile wall, the hiss of hot water against tile the only sound in the room. Mihashi met his stare, held it, and then his eyes dropped to Abe’s chest, probably staring at the scars left behind from his last time in a Jaeger, and his teeth sank into his lower teeth. “When… When I Drifted with Tajima-kun, the first time, it was just like with Abe-kun, but… Tajima-kun said my head was too loud, and that might be why it wasn’t working. So, I tried… I tried not to be so loud, and… and then it worked. Um, well, it took a few times, but…”

“Your head was ‘too loud’?” Abe repeated, and Mihashi ducked his head a bit, floundering as he waved his hands around a bit. Abe resumed cleaning himself off as he waited for the right words to tumble out of Mihashi’s mouth. Translating Mihashi-speak was hard enough for the blond as it was, but having him translate something he’d heard from someone else was, Abe had learned, a whole different rodeo.

“I’m not… really sure what Tajima-kun meant, but… When I stopped thinking words? I think? It worked?” Mihashi said, leaning over to stand under the hot spray and let the pressure massage his muscles. Not a bad idea, Abe thought deciding if he had time after he was clean and their conversation wasn’t over that he’d do the same. “There were… a lot of things Tajima-kun said that I didn’t really… understand…”

“He’s a natural type,” Abe agreed, standing under the hot foray to get the soap off his body and down the drain. “I’m impressed he could actually dictate much of anything of use to you. His body just does things in the right way at the right time. That’s pretty much the only way to explain his numbers.” Instinct, Abe qualified in his head. Tajima was the kind of pilot that moved by instinct. A deadly warrior, one he was definitely glad to have at his base, no matter what kind of personal friction was between them. Well, maybe he wouldn’t mind having one of the Touri teams, but that was a completely different level altogether.

“I want to try it!” Mihashi repeated, and Abe stepped into the hot water with his back against it, letting the pressure massage his muscles just so. It wasn’t quite as satisfying as an actual massage would be, but it would work for now.

“All right. So, ‘I like baseball’, except without words. Let’s try it,” Abe agreed, and Mihashi blossomed like a flower after a rainstorm, obviously pleased with his input into their Drift. A single expression, and Abe found himself determined to make this tether work better than the last one. He looked down to his left hand where Mihashi’s body heat had lingered until Abe had finally fallen asleep but a couple hours before their alarm went off, and he clenched his fingers into a fist, remembering his silent determination he’d held onto as sleep had claimed him, the promise to himself - to Mihashi - to become worthy of the trust the blond had placed on his shoulders. He was the one with more experience between the two of them, yes, but Tajima had even more than Abe, and his advice -  _let Mihashi lead_  - was something Abe could at least try.

Abe turned off the water and lightly dried himself off with the towel he’d brought, wrapping it around his waist when he was done and walking into the locker room. He pulled on his boxer briefs, then his pants, leaving them unbuttoned as he pulled on his shirt over his head. He tucked the cotton in, plucking his dog tags out of the neck, then buttoned his pants. He threaded his belt through the loops, turning to see if Mihashi was almost done dressing as well just in time to see the blond turn around to pull on his own shirt over his head, the tips of his ears still pink from the hot water of the shower. He’d probably gotten stuck in the damn thing, Abe mused, a fond exasperation hanging in his chest as he pulled on his socks and boots.

When they were finally both dressed, Abe followed Mihashi out of the locker room, to the elevator and to the all-too familiar floor of the Kwoon Combat Room and Jaeger Simulation pod. He knocked on the door, and opening it showed Hamada inside, waving them towards the prep room without much more than a nod and a thumbs up through the steam of a mug of coffee.

Abe pulled out his phone on their way to the locker room for the Jaeger Simulator, pulling up the alarm and staring down at the five minutes set. Then, with a single half-second of hesitation, he flicked the time up to five minutes thirty seconds, confirming the change. He blinked down at the number, then looked up at the expectant expression on Mihashi’s face and the way his hand was already in the air waiting Abe’s to pair off with it. Without a second thought to the sudden change, Abe reached over himself, pressing his palm against Mihashi’s and delighting in the fact that they were both warm, and not too different at all.

“Ready?” he asked, and Mihashi nodded, eyes closing and lips pressing into that familiar half-smile. Abe set his phone alarm, then closed his eyes, falling into a familiar meditation and focusing more this time on Mihashi, not the ambient surroundings. His mind kept wanting to drift to the moment last night, to the feel of Mihashi’s thumb tracing over the inside of his wrist, but he reeled it back, focusing on the way Mihashi’s fingers were pressing slightly between his own, not quite weaved together but as close as they could be without actually doing it. Mihashi had long fingers, probably from pitching since he was growing, Abe thought, wondering at the callouses that were the same as his but in different places, imagining the way Mihashi’s fingers would trace over red threading to prepare a pitch, and suddenly wondering what it would be like to play a real game with the blond, beaten beneath the sun and adrenaline-high with protective gear and a batter between them. They’d be invincible, he thought, and with the thought, he started to move his fingers, almost as if they had minds of their own, threading them between Mihashi’s just as the thread on a baseball kept it pieced together, and before he could do anything but squeeze comfortingly, the alarm went off, causing his eyes to fly open to see gold before him. It was Mihashi’s intense gaze, he recognized; the same stare that met him across the Kwoon Combat Room, the same gaze that pinned him to the ground as efficiently - perhaps even more so - than Haruna ever had, if only because he didn’t quite want to get from beneath this one.

And then, Abe felt his cheekbones burn inexplicably, and he pulled his hand away, clearing his throat as he walked over to his locker and pulled the door open. He put his phone on the top shelf, pulling off his clothes and replacing them with the electromyograph suit. He finished, and when he turned around, he noted with a fond smile that Mihashi was staring at his back, not even bothering to fight with the arms of the suit anymore.

“You’re a mess,” Abe said, warmth in every piece of the sentence, and he plucked Mihashi’s fingers through the stretchy fabric, zipping him up from navel to throat. He then leaned forward, bumping his forehead against Mihashi’s gently, and stepping down the hallway to get their armor into place.

Abe waited patiently as the technicians screwed all of the plastic into place, and then he stepped into the boots, pulling on the helmet and letting the familiar sensation of relay gel filling and emptying the helmet calm him in a quiet meditation. Finally, he looked over to Mihashi, who nodded and led the way down the last bit through to the Simulator’s pod. It was comfortable, now, now hesitation as Abe stepped to the left side as Mihashi took the right, the rig screwing into their armor and holding them as steady as they would need for the likelihood of one of them falling out of the Drift.

“Welcome back, boys. Here’s to making it work today,” Hamada’s voice said through the intercom, and the machinery around them hummed to life, systems coming on and the pons system booting for their Drift. Abe looked over to Mihashi in perfect unison for the blond looking over to him, and the motion had Abe’s heart thumping with excitement in his chest. They were close. He could feel it. Whatever encouragement he’d intended to say died on the tip of his tongue, because that had been enough, really, and he looked back to the front as the countdown started, closing his eyes and letting his body settle back against the rig as he pictured everything he could about his aching age-old love for the sport that had brought Mihashi to him, waiting for the five, four, three, two, one -

( - [ _warmth from a sun on the field, dust beneath his feet, the sound of a baseball bat making clean contact, the feel of a cap tugging over his sweat-riddled hair, the smell of lemon in ice-cold water just waiting for him back at the bench, the taste of salt from licking his lips after hours of a hard workout, warmth, warmth, golden warmth, it was such a pleasant, pleasant day, or was it because of something else, because no summer day was this nice, made him feel so light and so free like this, gold, gold, gold] -_ ………………………………. _Abe-kun…?)_

Abe didn’t dare open his eyes, focusing on the sound of Mihashi’s voice calling out to him even through the intense sensations of being on a baseball field. There was a pressure in his limbs, a slowness, and he didn’t dare move to test it, not yet.

( _Mihashi… can you hear me? [warm, gold, gold, gold])_

_(Yes! I can hear you… I can hear Abe-kun… in my head! Is this… is this…?!)_

Abe didn’t say the words ‘calm down’, but he didn’t need to, not like this, not when their thoughts were one and the same. He couldn’t even quite be sure if he was the one telling Mihashi or if Mihashi was telling himself, not really, not anymore. But he took a breath all the same, a calming breath, knowing that next to him Mihashi was doing the exact same, and then finally, he decided to risk opening his eyes.

_(Mihashi…?)_

_(I’m here, Abe-kun… I’m here…)_

Abe bit his lower lip as a wave of emotion struck him like a punch to the gut, eyes burning and throat clenching around words he didn’t know how to say - but it didn’t matter, not anymore, because like this, words meant nothing, and he knew that Mihashi heard every piece of it in his own head. But just Drifting wasn’t enough, he knew, exhaling carefully. They had to move, or else they couldn’t pilot together. They could start small, though, he thought, broadcasting it to Mihashi as much as he broadcasted it to himself. Just an arm, first. Lift the right arm. Lift it. Reach out, like you’re about to catch a ball. Gently, slowly, not too much, not too fast -

And with a jerk, Abe felt the weight of the Drift increase like a well of gravity on every muscle fibre in his body, and with a spark of pain threaded through his whole body, his mind echoed with emptiness and there was a crackle of sound over the intercom.

“…Holy shit,” Hamada’s voice said, unprofessionally, but Abe didn’t care because the phrase could have as much come from his own mouth. “That was thirty seconds. Ninety nine percent Drift compatibility. Thirty seconds of a solid Drift, constant at ninety nine percent. Holy shit. Tadashi, did you see these numbers? Look at these fucking - ” Hamada cut out, and Abe tugged his helmet off as soon as the rig released him, turning to see Mihashi doing the same, eyes wide on his face, wide and staring, and -

And then, Mihashi grinned.

“We did it!” he said, but Abe couldn’t nod, he couldn’t say anything, not for the fact that Mihashi’s face was as bright as a sun and he was blinded as surely for staring at it. Unadulterated joy, and Mihashi’s hand reaching out, clutching his own in a firm grip, a peal of delighted laughter spilling out of Mihashi’s smiling face, eyes as gold as the stars in the sky and twice as hot. He wasn’t breathing, Abe suddenly realized, and he inhaled purposefully, but the movement was shallow, his lungs already full, and his exhale was slow and quivery and as tiny as he felt in the face of Mihashi’s brilliance.

“We did it,” Abe finally managed to echo, every other word somehow wiped out of his vernacular if Mihashi didn’t say it first, but then they sank in, and his grip was as tight on Mihashi’s as Mihashi’s was on his own, and like a bolt of lightning, he returned to his body. “We did it…  _We did it!_ ”

Mihashi’s arms were around his neck, helmet clanging to the ground without care, and Abe’s free arm came around an all-too thin waist, Mihashi’s laughter against his neck burning him from the inside out. And then he was laughing too, almost deliriously, because it was thirty seconds, only thirty seconds, not even enough to leave the bay let alone take down a Kaiju, but it was a victory nonetheless. Thirty seconds of complete unity. Thirty seconds of being in the Drift again, after so long, thirty seconds of something that felt completely different than it had with Haruna, somehow, though he was still high off the Drift to do too much digging right away.

“That was incredible, you two! Come on out and get changed, and go get some lunch. Figure out what the hell you did, then do it every time!” Hamada said, laughing before he switched out of the connection. Mihashi finally came back down to his own feet, stepping back and bending down to pick up his helmet. His whole face was red with joy and excitement, the muscles around his mouth loose and his lips still curled in a shadowy reminder of the grin Abe had just been blinded by.

“Hama-chan is right… let’s. Let’s go to the range so we can clear our heads, and… and then we can talk. Over lunch,” Mihashi suggested, and Abe nodded, still somewhat stunned to silence, and he followed behind Mihashi’s blond hair, silent as the technicians stripped them of their armor, silent even to where he tugged off his electromyograph suit, feeling every ounce of reverence as he pulled on his clothes and stepped into the hall. Mihashi seemed to understand, as quiet and harmonious as Abe felt, glowing with all of the warmth Abe felt inside of himself, until they were standing in front of the elevator to do to the shooting range and Mihashi’s phone rang.

Mihashi pulled his phone out of his pocket, looking down at the caller ID. Abe watched with a detached interest, figuring it was probably Tajima or Sakaeguchi calling to make lunch plans, but he saw the exact moment Mihashi’s face screwed up in confusion, pressing the accept button and holding the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?” he answered, and Abe heard a moment of silence before a female’s voice echoed through. Abe felt the concerned frown on his face mirroring a second behind the one he saw growing on Mihashi’s face. “Ruri…? What’s…?” A few moments of silence, and then more chatter, and Abe watched as Mihashi grew progressively greener. “Wait, you’re…?! What?! No! Why?” Mihashi reached out when the door to the elevator opened, keeping Abe from getting on, not that Abe was planning on moving an inch anyway. He was focused on Mihashi’s distressed face, the way his eyes were wide with worry and - and anger, he recognized, distantly, from the one time Tajima had earned Mihashi’s ire. “Did you tell your parents? And they’re  _okay_  with it?”

Abe heard more flustered chatter from the phone, indecipherable but clearly impassioned, and before Mihashi could get in another word edgewise, he made a guttural noise and then lowered his phone, staring down at where the call had been disconnected. She’d hung up on him, this Ruri, Abe guessed. Whoever she was, she was currently on Abe’s shit list for ruining the brilliant mood Mihashi had been in from their success. “Who was that?” he asked, wisely asking to gauge how much trouble he’d get in if he said something nasty about her.

“My cousin, Ruri,” Mihashi answered, his tone sounding almost sick. He looked up to Abe, mouth twisted into a frown. And then, his next sentence had Abe’s stomach on the floor right next to Mihashi’s.

“She’s graduating from the Musashino Jaeger program next week.”

 


	17. change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FWAHHHH lots going on in here. arc one is about over, meaning that arc two will be here and i hope you all have seatbelts for that mwahahhahaha
> 
> I COME BEARING GIFTS!!!
> 
> [whythemadman](http://whythemadman.tumblr.com/post/111481168909/commission-done-for-blondnepeta-commission-info) \- abemih in the locker room and some mizutani and izumi lovin ayyyyy. im not screaming youre screamin
> 
> [seasaltinecrackers](http://seasaltinecrackers.tumblr.com/post/111259791685/why-tumblr-user-blondnepeta-why-do-you-do-this) \- sadie continuing to wreck with enough scenes to kill a man
> 
> [mmmbuttery](http://grooveshark.com/#!/playlist/Sam+PacRim/104324579) \- a kickass playlist uwahhhhh go give it a listen!!
> 
> thank you all omfg y’all are the best [screams a lot] ok everyone plz enjoy~

Ruri hit the red end call button with a fierce press of her thumb, pursing her lips together as she closed her eyes and fought desperately against the echoing shimmers of red-hot tongue lashing she’d just given to her cousin. She took in a deep breath then let it out, and when she opened her eyes again to glare down at ‘Ren-Ren’ on the screen, her fury had died down to a somewhat more manageable anger.

Mihashi, more than  _anyone_ , should have understood, Ruri thought bitterly.

“I  _knew_  I should have called Kanou first,” she grumbled, huffing out and puffing her cheeks into a pout. She gripped her phone in her hand, straightening her neck to look down the now-empty hall of Musashino’s first-class Ranger Academy wing. She slipped her phone into her pocket glumly. Even knowing she should have called Kanou first was pointless, not since the last conversation they’d had about her entering the Jaeger Academy had ended disastrously. Besides, he was always busy lately, she’d rationalized. He would be at practice all afternoon and would need every second of rest when he got home. Training for getting picked for the ace position was brutal, and from the way Kanou talked, there was more than one good competitor for the spot.

Ruri reached up and slapped her cheeks twice with her palms, squaring her shoulders and marching down the hall away from the notification board for cadets. It wouldn’t do any good for her to stand out in the hall and mope about her stupid cousin and his stupid pestering like  _he_  wasn’t in the Ranger Academy too. If anything,  _she_  should be even  _more_  the one between them to want to be here, she thought acridly, fingers curling into tight fists as she increased her pace. They’d both lost a grandfather that day, yes, but Mihashi had only lost a cousin; Ruri had lost a brother. A  _younger_  brother. A brother that had looked up at her with wide eyes the first time they’d met, tiny fingers curling around one of her own and the first bubbling laughter of his lifetime at her pigtails.

“Stupid Ren-Ren,” Ruri hissed under her breath, blood pressure spiking back up despite her attempts to keep it down. “Stupid, stupid, stupid. Not, ‘congratulations’ or ‘wow, good job, I know that’s tough!’ just. ‘Did you tell your parents?’? Stupid Ren-Ren.  _Stupid, stupid, stupid_  - ”

The door to the stairwell crashed noisily open as she shoved inside, footsteps echoing noisily up and down the flights of stairs beneath her shoes. Her hand ghosted over the handrail as she sailed down the three flights down from the Academy to the one place that could probably make her feel better - the one place she’d really stood out against all the other Ranger cadets. Even thinking about the Kwoon Combat Room put her in a slightly better mood, though she knew that it would probably only be after exhausting her fury out on a dummy would she truly feel relaxed enough to keep from running all the way to Nishiura to scream in her cousin’s ear.

The Kwoon Combat Room was blissfully empty when she stepped inside. She inhaled, closing her eyes, then exhaled, going to stand next to the mat where she’d claimed first place in her class just the previous morning before she kicked off her shoes and stripped off her shirt to stand in her sports bra and pants. She picked at a thread on her bra, only to stop when she realized that it was unraveling and she’d have to use a pair of scissors to cut it off when she got back to her room.

All she needed was a Drift Compatible copilot, and she’d be in the lineup for one of the two Jaegers Musashino boasted. Valkyrie Alpha would probably be more likely, she thought, since it seemed that Haruna and that Kaguyama person had apparently broken a base record for compatibility, if the whispering in the lunch lines was to be believed. Ruri took a pole in her hands, the weight of the wood familiar pressed against her palm, and she tried to imagine which would be worse: to be the Jaeger distracting the Kaiju, or to be the Jaeger in charge of killing it.

The pole whistled through the air as she stepped into a few warmup exercises. She let her muscles smooth into each movement, going deeper each time, stretching and leaning further, until a slight sheen of sweat covered her skin and she felt her body hum with anticipation. She dragged one of the weighted practice dummies onto the mat, then went through several of her easier moves, doing each of them several times until she was hitting the intended mark on the dummy perfectly each time. She then started adding steps, going faster, hitting harder, panting out as the physical exertion increased, the pole hitting sharply against the dummy and keeping it moving as she whirled on the balls of her feet and felt the muscles in her legs and core burn at each movement -

A tiny popping noise and a sudden release of tension around her chest had Ruri freezing in place. She looked down and saw her sweat-stained bra, the elastic torn on the side where she’d plucked at the thread earlier. Her shoulders fell, and she sucked air through her teeth as she lifted her right arm, feeling along with the left to the tear. She found it, and a quick inspection revealed it was smooth-edged. The crappy cadet washing machine striking again, she thought sourly, wondering how many pairs of panties and how many socks she’d lost to the ancient behemoth. Even her favorite shirt had a hole in it from the metal beast.

Ruri took the pole and turned to put it away, her left hand clutching the cloth of her bra to keep herself decent until she could get to her shirt, but before she was halfway across the mat, the doorknob to the Kwoon Combat Room turned and two very male voices came through the opening. White panic gripped her, and before she could rationalize against how completely  _stupid_  it was, she ducked behind the weight rack, out of sight from the door but really not that hidden. She let her head bang against the wall behind her, hoping that whoever it was would just walk in to grab something then  _leave_  because it would be  _mortifying_  to be caught hiding like a little kid doing something wrong, even without being half-naked with a torn bra.

“…the way she pinched him, though? There’s no way he had  _that_  coming.”

“Oh, right, and I guess you’ll be the one to tell her that?”

Ruri slapped her hand over her mouth to keep the squeak in as her cheeks flushed bright red. She peered through the slots of the weight rack, because surely her karma wasn’t  _this_  bad - but Haruna Motoki looked just as charming close up as he did on television, even with the devious curl of his lips directed towards Kaguyama Naoto, who was, probably, shorter than she’d expected. She shrank back against the wall, pulling her legs as close to her chest as she could manage, because somehow getting caught half-naked by the 144 Sprinter Jaeger Team was worse than just some regular guys.

“Come on, you owe me for killing that roach earlier,” Kaguyama said after a bit of low talking that she couldn’t quite make out, and Ruri watched as Haruna visibly shuddered before turning jerkily around to look at his copilot. Laughter filled the room, and Haruna got closer to where Ruri was hiding behind the weights, eyes darting all around and oh God if he found her - “Come on, Haruna. You probably dropped it in the locker room before we took our showers.”

“I’m sure I would have seen it, though,” Haruna’s voice said,  _painfully_  close, close enough for her to hear the soft sigh when his hand came up to thread through his hair and his hip cocked out to the side a bit. All he had to do was look over at the weight rack and he’d totally see her. “You’re probably right, though. It’s definitely not here.” Another slow exhale of strained breath. “Man, this really isn’t like me.”

Ruri squeezed her legs close enough to her chest to hinder her breathing, though when she heard the stillness in the room, she sucked in a silent gasp and clenched her eyes shut. For a split second, she thought they’d found her, they were both staring at her and that was why it was so painfully tense in the absence of sound, but when nothing came but a soft sigh from the doorway, she knew that wasn’t the case.

“Look, Haruna - ” Kaguyama started, but before he could get any further than that, Haruna hissed out a quick breath.

“I’m fine, okay, senpai? I’m fine. Really.”

“No, you’re  _not_ ,” Kaguyama said, and when Ruri heard the slap of flesh, she cracked open her eyes to see Haruna’s fingers wrapped around Kaguyama’s wrist mid-air. Haruna’s back was to her, but his spine was as stiff as the pole lying on the floor next to her, his shoulders vibrating just enough for her to notice. Kaguyama’s face contorted, his teeth sinking into his lower lip and his eyes raking desperately over Haruna’s unseen expression. “I  _know_  you’re not fine, Haruna. And you don’t need to try and hide it from me.”

“I’m not  _hiding_  anything,” Haruna’s answer came, but it was coarse around the edges and felt like sandpaper in Ruri’s ears. To her, it sounded more like he was pissed than anything else, but something in his face must have told the other pilot differently, as his tone shifted from sharp to something a bit more tender.

“Haruna,” Kaguyama said again, his voice dipping down again in volume, his shoulders sinking down just a bit as his arm fell down to his side. Haruna’s fingers remained wrapped tightly around his wrist. Kaguyama’s gaze fell down to Haruna’s chest, his brow furrowing. “Last night, you… it was scary. It wasn’t like the first time.”

Haruna’s fingers let go of Kaguyama’s wrist as if touching him a second longer would burn him. “What - ? Why didn’t you  _say_  something? Senpai - ”

“ _No_ , I mean, it was  _okay_ , I’m not saying…” Kaguyama brought his hands up to rub at his face as a soft groan came out of his mouth. “I knew you were just… I knew it was your way of dealing with it, and I didn’t mind - I  _still_  don’t mind, I’m not saying that, it’s just…” Kaguyama’s hands came down in a frustrated gesture. “It was scary, because I knew you were hurting, I could  _feel_  it, and… and I couldn’t help you. I could barely even distract you. It… it was scary.”

The Kwoon Combat Room filled with a pressing silence that stole Ruri’s breath even more intensely out of her chest than her knees pressing into it. The sudden thought that this was wrong, that this wasn’t anything she was supposed to hear, that there was something private going on that she was stealing from them tore through her mind, but she couldn’t move. She was frozen in place, eyes glued to the two men standing just on the other side of the weight rack, because somehow, even worse than listening in was letting them know she had done so. She swallowed thickly, watching as Haruna’s hands reached up to cup at his elbows, his arms hugging himself, and in an instant, Ruri thought about how Haruna was only a year older than she was herself, just one year, and he looked so small.

“Look, Haruna, you’ve got to talk to  _someone_  about this. It doesn’t have to be me, but you… you can’t just let this - ”

“It’s not that, Senpai. It’s not like you’re not going to see it all in the Drift eventually anyway.” Haruna’s head dipped forward, right hand raising to his face. “It’s… I…” He then hissed foully, tossing his head back and giving out a hollow laugh. “Takaya always said this would happen. I told him he was full of shit, always thought he was just trying to get a better score in the simulator because it mattered to him for some reason. I thought he was just a cocky brat who hated my guts. I totally misunderstood him.”

“Haruna?” Kaguyama said, voice careful, hand twitching at his side like he wanted to raise it and try to comfort, or maybe try and stop the spew of words coming out. Whichever it was, his hand stopped, then clenched at his thigh.

“I’d always thought it would be fine to be careful as long as the Kaiju stayed out in the ocean. It’s not like they can fly or be in two places at once. The city is safe as long as they stay at the Miracle Mile. I thought that. I really thought that.” Haruna brought his hands up, palms facing the ceiling and turning just enough so that Ruri could finally see his face. His mouth was twisted in a nightmare of a smile, his eyes puffy and red and his face splotchy from where he looked like he was trying his best not to break down. “If I’d just… If we’d killed it faster, that rush in the subway wouldn’t have happened, and that stupid idiot would be…”

This time when Kaguyama reached for Haruna, there was no grasp intercepting him halfway, and Kaguyama’s hands reached up, palms holding Haruna’s jaw tightly, so tightly Ruri could see the pale tips of his fingers with the pressure. “You listen to me. It’s not your fault your friend died, okay? It’s not your fault. It was a freak accident.”

“Senpai - ”

“ _It’s not your fault_.” Kaguyama repeated himself, his usually soft face as hard as stone and his expression twice as steady. There was a heartbeat of silence, two, three, and then there was a sound Ruri was pretty sure she wouldn’t forget for the rest of her life, a broken claw of emotion that had her head leaning back against the wall and eyes squeezing shut as if she could will it out of her head. The rest of the sobs were muffled, footsteps shuffling on the floor, and she knew without looking that Haruna had probably buried his face into Kaguyama’s shoulder. She pressed her knees closer still to her chest in an attempt to stem away the pain that had blossomed there when Haruna starting hiccuping incomprehensibly, until it was a word, just one, a name she didn’t recognize.

A few moments later, an eternity, maybe, Haruna sniffled and straightened off his smaller copilot, arms lifting so his forearms could wipe away the tears and snot on his face. He took in a deep breath, then sighed it out jaggedly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s funny… when I told Akimaru I wanted to join the army, he wanted to join too. I told him not to because it wouldn’t be safe. Isn’t that a joke.”

“You were just trying to watch out for him,” Kaguyama replied softly, reaching up to thread his fingers through Haruna’s strands as well. Ruri then watched as he clenched his hand into a grip, causing Haruna to hiss out in pain before he let go, flashing a bright smile. “Come on. Let’s go find your wallet then grab some food and bring it back to the room. It’s a good thing we’re going to the locker room. You  _really_  need to wash your face.”

“What was that, senpai? It sure sounded like you were saying my face looked bad.”

“Yeah, good point. Maybe I should walk you around the base for a while first. Some of those groupies of yours might realize I’m actually the better-looking of us two after all.”

Haruna’s snort of laughter followed Kaguyama out the door, and Ruri remained frozen behind the weight rack for three seconds before she exhaled, her legs stretching forward from being cramped up so long. She then scrambled up over to her things, quickly pulling her shirt over her head and quickly tucking it into her pants. In the middle of buckling her belt, she slowed to a stop, eyes staring at the wall in front of her as she remembered the smiling cocky face of the Haruna she’d seen in the halls and on television, trying to put it together with the horrible sobs she’d heard just moments ago. It was hard to believe they were the same person.

Ruri put the pole away, then left the Kwoon Combat Room to go back to her room and change her bra, though in the hall, she slowed her steps to reach her hand into her pocket and pluck her phone back out. She flipped it open, then looked down at Mihashi’s name, and with a soft beep, she was calling him. She pressed the phone to her ear, listening through the dial tone to the soft pip and the background noise of what sounded like a shooting range.

“Ruri?” Mihashi’s voice came, sounding about as surprised as she felt with herself. There was a deep voice far off on Mihashi’s side, but she couldn’t make out what he said and didn’t particularly care, either.

“Hey, Ren-Ren,” she said. “I just wanted to tell you I love you and I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“Oh… Um, I love you too, and… Yeah, I’m sorry too. But…”

“I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you, but with Grandpa and Ryuu, and then you and - I had to do  _something_ , Ren-Ren. I couldn’t just…” She raised a hand, clutching her fingers in her shirt over her chest. “Kanou was really mad too, you know. I haven’t talked to him since I told him I was joining.”

Mihashi’s sigh told her all she needed to know about how much he’d talked to their childhood friend as well. “You should… you should call him.”

“But he’s got practice and - ”

“Ruri. You should…! You should call him.” Ruri ceased when Mihashi cut her off, and she closed her eyes, remembering Haruna’s agonized face. She thought for a second what it would feel like if she heard something had happened to Kanou while she was in a Jaeger, and her stomach twisted with a black anxiety.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll call him,” she said. “But! You’ve got to call him too, okay? Promise?” Mihashi made a strangled noise, and the knot in her stomach released a bit at the old familiarity of their roles, a smile crossing unbidden on her face. “I’ll tell him to look for your call.”

She hung up the phone before Mihashi could protest anymore, and even now, she could see in her mind’s eye the exact exhausted look he was probably shooting his phone right now, hoping she would know it. With a huge inhale, Ruri held the air in her chest, then let it all out, shoulders dropping and a sudden excitement bubbling in her stomach at the prospect of getting on the roster to be a Jaeger pilot. The chance to make sure she’d never have to make the same face Haruna had made. The chance to protect everyone.

“Thank you, Haruna-san,” she whispered into the hall, gratitude making her swell until she could hardly breathe for it, and with a flick of her pigtails, she slipped into the stairwell to get changed.

\----------

“Annnnnd… ah.”

Mizutani sighed out in relief as he clicked the ‘send’ button on the email and heard the whoosh of the email leaving his outbox. A few seconds later, the carbon copy to himself showed up in his inbox, as well as a confirmation receipt from the automated email inbox belonging to his superior an ocean away. He leaned back in his desk chair, cringing at each pop of his spine at the motion, then lifted his hands to drag his fingers through his hair and ruffle it out of place. Tajima and Hanai had looked particularly glowing in this report, though his repairs and updates to the Striker Cleanup were also exquisitely highlighted to his satisfaction.

“Shit,” he mumbled when he looked down at his watch and saw it was half past five in the morning, just hours before his report was technically due. The question now, he mused, was whether to just say fuck it and pull the all nighter or crawl into his bed for a quick nap before his day was scheduled to begin. His hands rose to rub his cheeks, the stubble scratching his palms unpleasantly before he stood and pushed away from the desk with a groan when he remembered that the rotation had switched and he was in charge of getting the Shatterdome’s systems running in, oh, about an hour. Once he was standing, he stretched again, arms high over his head and a loud moan creeping out of his mouth before he exhaled and folded back in on himself. He needed some coffee.

Mizutani padded out of his room, leaving his tiny one-person bedroom just like all mechanics were assigned on the tiny hall off-shooting the Shatterdome and stepping into the all-too bright hallway with a squint. He lifted his hand to shade his eyes, shuffling lethargically into the break room that connected to the Shatterdome. He creacked open the door, and when he saw the silver blue of a ghost, every muscle in his body contracted and a shrill scream tore from his throat.

“Jesus Christ, wake up the whole goddamned base, why don’t you?!” came a hissed response from the ghost, and Mizutani peeled himself off the floor to see not a ghost, but Izumi sitting at the table, the illumination of his laptop screen casting his face in the silver-blue shade that had just about had Mizutani pissing his pants. Mizutani exhaled, then laughed nervously, hand coming to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Sorry, man. I just finished my report, and I guess it’s got me a little loopy.” Izumi rolled his eyes, which squinted when Mizutani stood and flicked the light switch so the fluorescents blinked on. “I came to get some coffee.”

“Of course you did,” Izumi grumbled, going back to typing on his laptop. Mizutani hummed as he walked over to the coffee machine, opening the top lid and tossing out grounds that were still a little warm. He looked down at the pot that had a little less than a cup left - too little for him to use to stay awake, but too much just to throw away. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a white mug next to Izumi’s right wrist, not quite steaming hot anymore but releasing just enough curling into the light of the break room that it was obvious who had just made the coffee.

“Here,” he said, grabbing the pot and turning to pour the last little bit in Izumi’s cup. Izumi blinked up at him in surprise, and Mizutani took the opportunity to empty the pot, though getting that close allowed him to see that the bags beneath Izumi’s eyes were about as black as the coffee. He felt the frown pull onto his mouth, and he turned to set up the pot again. “Did you not go to sleep?”

Izumi made a soft noise behind him while he grabbed a filter and started spooning the coffee out of the cheap container. “I tried. I have a tough time with it sometimes.” Mizutani stilled, then continued spooning until he had enough grounds for a full pot. He dropped the full filter into the top of the pot, then walked over to the sink to rinse out the pot and fill it with water.

“Wait, so you’ve been up all night too? I thought your report wasn’t due for another week. And don’t you need pilots before you can finish it?” Mizutani asked, turning off the water when the pot was filled. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Izumi lift his mug and take a sip of his coffee before propping his head up on his elbow.

“Who said I was doing my report?” came the snarky reply. Mizutani scowled down at the coffee pot in confusion as he poured the water into the reservoir. When no answer came, Mizutani finished setting up the coffee pot and pushed the button for it to start brewing, staring at Izumi’s sleep-deprived face across the room.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking - ”

“Oh boy.”

“ - okay, wow, anyway. About Abe and Mihashi. I heard they don’t have a Neural Handshake when they try to Drift. Isn’t that… really weird?” Mizutani asked, the smell of coffee beginning to flirt with his nose and waking him up just a bit just by smelling it. “I mean… that’s really weird, right?”

Izumi hefted a sigh. “Well, I looked around and I didn’t see anything in any of the records with anything like two people Drifting without a Neural Handshake. But there’s a lot of really weird stuff that  _has_  been reported, like this… ‘Ghost Drift’ thing that apparently Dr. Lightcap proposed, and stories of a handful of people that could control a Jaeger by themselves for a short period of time. Also some really dark shit, like, tests to see what would happen if one pilot died while they were both attached to the Jaeger in the middle of battle.”

“No way,” Mizutani groaned, smothering his face with his hands. Izumi shrugged, taking a sip of coffee.

“Yeah. It’s weird. Drifting is weird, though. I mean, you’re in someone else’s head through the connection of a giant alien-fighting robot, and - ” Izumi suddenly stopped talking, mouth clamping shut as his hand froze with his coffee mug halfway to his mouth. Mizutani blinked, waiting for something to happen, and then Izumi hummed slightly, bringing the cup to his mouth and taking a long drink.

“Well, if you’re not working on your report, then, what  _are_  you working on?” Izumi resumed clicking through a few more of whatever he was looking at before he glanced up, then gave Mizutani a slight curl of lips that had the ginger’s stomach twisting into a knot.

“It’s a favor for Nishihiro,” Izumi said at last, looking back down to his laptop and taking another sip of coffee. “He wanted all the data from all of the Kaiju attacks from the last ten years I could find. Shit’s harder to access than you’d think.”

Mizutani folded his arms as he leaned backwards against the countertop. “You don’t think… he’s on to something, do you?” he asked, barely able to keep the excitement out of his voice. Izumi leaned back in his chair, using his hand to brush back the hair out of his face as he stared at his screen.

“I’ve got no idea, and even if I asked him, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t understand a damn thing he says. He’s real cute, but he’s not exactly good at being chatty.”

Mizutani watched the way Izumi’s entire expression softened with a pang in his chest that had his own eyes falling to the tile floor beneath his toes. His toes which were, he noticed, sporting mismatched socks, and though they wriggled when he stared at them, somehow they didn’t quite feel like his. He swallowed thickly, the sound and rich smell of the percolating coffee filling the small room around the silence that gaped open out of Mizutani’s chest. Just when he was sure he’d scream if he had to open his mouth because the silence was beginning to smother him, the coffee machine beeped softly and drew him out of the tension inside of him. He straightened and went to turn to get a cup, but he saw Izumi staring at him, expression unreadable and face excruciatingly neutral. He stared back for one heartbeat, then two, and then he finished turning, focusing his eyes on the coffee cup in front of him, reaching out to grab it and get his cup of coffee and  _go_  and -

A hand wrapped firmly around his wrist, just enough pressure to keep his fingers from wrapping around the mug handle. Mizutani blinked into Izumi’s face, excited fluttering in his stomach when he realized that their faces were close enough for him to detect the hazelnut in the fancy coffee Izumi used on the other mechanic’s breath. Somehow, the thought had the hairs on the back of his neck prickling, his breath catching in his chest.

“Go and get some sleep, Mizutani,” Izumi said, tugging his hand away from the coffee mug and nudging him away from the pot by bumping Mizutani’s hip with his own. “Thanks for the coffee. I needed another cup.”

“But I’ve got to report in an hour and - ”

“I’ll cover for you.” Izumi poured himself another cup of coffee, then turned to sit down in front of his laptop. Mizutani stared for a brief second before he turned to go back to his bedroom, sort of baffled at the entire exchange. He hesitated at the doorway, his fingers curling on the frame and his eyes peering at Izumi one last time over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” he muttered, and Izumi gave him a two-fingered salute without taking his eyes off his computer screen.

He shuffled back into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him and blinking into the darkness. His eyes were at the itchy borderline of being unable to sleep no matter how tired he was, so he reached down to his mp3 player and grabbed it, taking his headphones and slipping them over his head. He flopped onto his bed, tangling his feet in his sheet so they didn’t get cold, and used his thumb to flick through the playlists until he got to the one he’d gotten used to falling asleep to lately. He pressed play, then wrapped his arms around his pillow and nuzzled his face on it, closing his eyes and letting the slow soft love song serenade him into a doze.

\----------

By the time Abe called for the last pitch, there was a silent agreement between him and Mihashi (or, rather, him, Mihashi, and Abe’s aching thighs) that they’d be going to the cafeteria for dinner. He stood slowly, letting the muscles in his legs stretch out carefully, and then he walked over to where Mihashi was wiping the sweat off his forehead with his forearm. Hazel eyes were wide and locked with his own, a small smile curling Mihashi’s lips as Abe reached out to drop the ball in Mihashi’s hand.

“Here,” Abe said, and Mihashi took the ball, looking down at it and letting his thumb trace delicately over the red threading. “Let’s go get some dinner and then shower before we go for our evening Drift.”

“Okay,” Mihashi said, looking back up at Abe as he curled his long fingers around the baseball in his palm. He blinked once, then twice, and Abe waited, seeing a sentence or two on the tip of Mihashi’s tongue. By the third blink and continued silence, however, what little patience he had left fled, and he huffed out, reaching up to ruffle Mihashi’s sweat-streaked hair before walking to the doorway. Mihashi would work it out soon enough on his own, probably.

They took the elevator to the busy cafeteria floor, and Abe noticed a few unsavory looks the two of them got for bringing their sweaty selves into a public space, but he ignored them. It would be a waste to go all the way down to the showers then come all the way back, and if people were offended, they could kiss his ass. At least Mihashi didn’t smell bad, he thought, looking down at where the blond’s neck was slowly drying and leaving the hairs at his nape curling defiantly with amusement.

It was a little difficult, juggling the bag of baseballs and his catcher’s glove  _and_  a tray of food, but luckily he spotted Sakaeguchi and Izumi sitting next to each other with a few empty seats in front of them. It was even  _more_  difficult to put his tray down without spilling anything, but somehow, he managed. As he sat down, Sakaeguchi wafted the air in front of his face, nose pinched up.

“Whew, Izumi, go get a fan so we can put these two downwind,” Sakaeguchi said, earning a sour look from Abe and a mumbled apology from Mihashi. “Well, you two have certainly been busy, huh? Baseball?”

“Yeah, I pitch, and Abe-kun catches, so we can get better at Drifting!” Mihashi answered before shoveling food in his mouth. Abe wasn’t much more polite, he was sure, not to mention that he wanted to hurry up and eat so the two of them could go claim the Jaeger Simulator before Tajima and Hanai did.

“Oh, yeah? And how’s that been working? Good, so far?” Sakaeguchi asked, looking to Abe and giving him a little wink. Abe felt the scowl on his face, partially because Mihashi turned to look to him to talk (which meant he couldn’t eat) and partially because Sakaeguchi had a little smug I-told-you-so look on his face that he  _really_  didn’t want to validate.

“Pretty good,” Abe said after swallowing, using his fork to push around his pasta a bit. “We had a Drift for thirty seconds this morning with some good numbers. We fell when we tried to move, but considering where we’re coming from, I’d say that’s a pretty huge improvement.”

“Thirty seconds? Dang, that is a huge improvement,” Sakaeguchi said, tilting his head and holding his cheek against his palm. “Though, you know, since both of you can Drift normally with Tajima, and Shouji and Hanai can Drift, I wonder if Momokan is just going to put the official teams with you two on rotation with Tajima or - ”

“We’re…!” Mihashi interrupted, causing Abe to look at him with a mouth full of food in shock. Mihashi’s face was clear and determined, his grip on his fork borderline dangerous. “We’re going to do it!” He then looked to Abe, eyes wide and sure. “Right?”

Abe swallowed, feeling tears prick into his eyes at the sudden pass of such a huge bite. Or maybe it was because of the way Mihashi was looking at him, saying that like he already knew for an accepted fact that they were going to be the official team for Big Windup. Whichever it was, it didn’t stop the grin on his face, nor the way he needed to reach out and grab Mihashi’s head to ruffle his hair with all the burning affection in his gut. “That’s right. It’s you and me, Mihashi. We’re gonna make sure all the Kaiju strike out.”

A snort of laughter across the table drew Abe’s attention away from his sparkling partner and to Izumi’s astoundingly sleep-deprived face that was filled with laughter. “Aw, shit, I’m sorry, no, that was good, I’m just. Okay, yeah, no, I can’t bullshit you to your face, Abe. That was so lame. That was so fucking lame. God. How long have you waited to use that line?” Izumi howled, banging his hand on the table as he laughed, and Abe looked to Sakaeguchi only to see that he was smothering a huge grin behind his palm.

“I…! I thought it was cool, Abe-kun,” Mihashi mumbled, turning pink and plucking at his napkin, and not for the first time Abe wondered exactly what he’d done to get these assholes for friends. “Because, because, I’m pitching, and you’re catching, and - !”

“Yeah,” Abe agreed, feeling his face heat up with someone between embarrassment and annoyance that something that cheesy had come out of his mouth and, by God, he’d meant it. “Anyway, come on and finish eating so we can go to the Simulator.” With what little dignity he had left, Abe groaned mentally.

“Oh, yeah, about that,” Izumi said, wiping underneath his eyes as he leaned forward and pointed his fork lazily at Abe. “The Simulator is closed for business tonight from dinner until, uh, probably sometime around three, if we’re lucky.”

“What do you mean, ‘closed’?” Abe asked, salad hanging off his fork halfway between his mouth and his plate. “I told Hamada we’d be coming and he didn’t say anything about it.”

“Yeah, well, first of all, he’s an idiot so you really can’t trust a damn thing he says,” Izumi drawled, stirring his ice water with a finger as his hand held onto the top of the glass. “Second of all, I’m the one who’s closing it, and if my hunch is correct, you’ll be thanking me for it.”

“How the  _hell_  would I thank you for taking away our Drift slot?! Weren’t you the one who - ” Abe’s jaw slammed shut, because he suddenly remembered that  _that_  conversation was supposed to be top secret. Or at least as top secret as he could expect from someone as unexpectedly shady as Izumi Kousuke. “We’re trying to Drift as quickly as possible so we don’t get pulled from the line up, but that means we have to practice. I’ve got two experts telling me that.”

“Yeah, well, eat my ass, Abe,” Izumi responded, taking an ice cube and popping it in his mouth. “Seriously, though. I’m going to be up to my eyeballs in the calibration gear as soon as I finish eating, so you won’t be able to use it.”

Abe pushed past his red-hot anger to pick up on what Izumi had just said, eyebrows drifting downwards as he studied the mechanic’s face. “…Why are you messing with the calibration? You need pilot information for that and Mihashi and I haven’t had a drop to give you that information.”

“Well, maybe I’m good enough not to need that information. Or maybe I’m doing something completely different,” Izumi responded lightly, crunching down on the ice loudly before pinning Abe down with his droopy blue eyes. “You can Drift tomorrow, promise. And, hopefully, you’ll find it a little easier once I’m tucked away into bed dreaming of a coffee machine that doesn’t break every time someone uses it.”

Izumi pushed away from the table and took his empty tray with him, walking off with a surprisingly light step with how exhausted he looked. Abe watched his back, then faced his food and shook his head while scooping in the last bit of food in his mouth. “Well,” Sakaeguchi said, also turning back to the table and away from Izumi’s back, “he’s as charming as ever.”

Abe scoffed around his bite of food, rolling his eyes as he swallowed. Sakaeguchi hummed, taking his fork and poking around the dregs of his salad before sighing. “Well, I for one hope that you two make it work out. I worry about Shouji getting into the Jaeger.”

“Oh, you don’t worry about the rest of us?” Abe teased, and Sakaeguchi looked up at him with a pointed smile.

“You know what I mean, Abe. I worry about my friends, too, but…” Sakaeguchi sighed again, pushing the purple cabbage from his salad through the tiny streaks of salad dressing still clinging to the bowl. “I don’t have to worry about him in a Jumphawk. I know he’ll come home if he’s there. I don’t know that if he’s in a Jaeger.”

“S-Suyama-kun will be fine,” Mihashi said, looking to Abe again, and Sakaeguchi looked up at Mihashi’s face, then grinned.

“Yeah, you’re right. Well, speaking of, he should be about through with that extra training he’s been doing with Hanai in the Kwoon Combat Room, so I should go bring him something to eat.” Sakaeguchi stood and grabbed his tray, but he didn’t walk away just yet. “Thanks, you two. I hope whatever Izumi’s doing and - and all this pitching and stuff you’re doing really works. I think you two make a really good team, and I’d be honored to be assigned to Big Windup.”

“Now who’s saying cheesy stuff?” Abe said with a smile, and Sakaeguchi laughed, waving as he turned to go dump off his tray. Once they were alone, Abe looked over to Mihashi, who had finished eating and was looking at him expectantly. “Well, looks like our evening plans to Drift are shot. Any ideas?”

“Um… well… We could go to the Kwoon Combat Room,” Mihashi suggested, fiddling his thumbs together. “If you’re not too tired from the pitching, that is, and, you know… we’re already sweaty, so…”

Abe nodded. “Yeah, good idea. I’m a little tired, but I don’t mind the hard workouts. It’ll help me sleep extra well tonight. And you too.”

“Oh, yeah, since last night we…” Mihashi said, suddenly burning bright red as he looked down at his hands. Abe waited for an explanation but realized soon enough that one was not coming. With a roll of his eyes, Abe stood from the table, reaching down to carefully balance the bag of baseballs, his glove, and the tray once again in his arms. Mihashi followed behind, much less burdened with just his one glove and his tray, eyeing Abe sheepishly. A little late, Abe thought with a small sigh, dumping the tray off in the bin and then leading the way to the elevator.

Mihashi pressed the button and they rode to the very familiar floor, going to the Kwoon Combat Room. There were a couple of cadets there, Abe noticed, a little surprised since he and Mihashi had always had the room to themselves before. He dropped his things off on one of the benches, kicking off his shoes and putting them under the bench. When he reached for the hem of his shirt, he looked over and saw Mihashi eyeing the other cadets wearily, one arm caught in his shirt and the other absentmindedly trying to pull it out.

“Mihashi,” Abe called, causing the blond to startle into looking back at him. “Don’t mind them.”

“I… I wont,” Mihashi responded, and as if to prove to Abe just that, he turned his back to them, stripping so quickly out of his shirt that his undershirt rose with it. He’d fish himself out, Abe figured, straightening his own undershirt as he walked over to grab two poles. Mihashi joined him, bare toes curling slightly on the mat as he reached out to grab one of the poles and shoulders a little higher than normal. Abe tilted his head a bit, wondering if he should offer to call quits and just go watch a movie or something, but then Mihashi peeked up at him, and Abe knew exactly what Mihashi’s answer to that would be.

“Ready?” Abe asked, and Mihashi nodded, taking a few steps back and then inhaling slightly, eyes shut, and exhaling into a relaxed posture. Abe crouched into position, pole at his side as he focused his eyes on Mihashi’s, waiting for the moment they both wordlessly agreed to - and there it was, the second they both moved in complete harmony towards one another. Mihashi’s pole came around, but Abe ignored it on its first rotation. A ball to the outside to test the opponent, see if they would swing.

The second time, Abe brought his pole forward to catch Mihashi’s, just in time to block what would have been a nasty bruise to his right shoulder from anyone else but a hint of a graze from Mihashi. Trying to place a strike. Abe let his eyes go from Mihashi’s pole to the intense gold shimmering behind it, wide and focused and just like a summer sun above a baseball diamond, burning his skin. He brought his own pole forward, ready to snap an attack, but Mihashi dodged in a smooth arc, the pole just barely missing his nose. When he straightened, Abe watched as Mihashi’s lips curled around a huff of laughter, and then, in perfect time, he felt his own mouth split into a grin. Time for the games to begin, then.

Mihashi pressed forward as his pole twirled in a dizzying arc in front of him, and then there was a clash of one, two, three - Abe lost count of how many times their poles connected, the room filling with the noise of avoided points, a grunt when Abe had to pull his pole particularly quickly to match Mihashi’s pin-point placement, a squawk when Mihashi’s next attack was foiled. Their feet slid along the mat, shuffling and jumping and hopping, Abe practically having to dance each time Mihashi tried to trip him up with his little ankle move.

His muscles were aching with the exertion of non-stop movement, but each second, Abe pressed harder, one step closer, then one step back, pushing to take the point and keep Mihashi from gaining it as well. But it was more than that, too, he realized, concentrating not on Mihashi or his pole but his own movements, and there was a split second where he saw in his mind’s eye Mihashi’s pole whipping forward, and his own raised just in time to meet it, blocking the attack. Abe felt his eyes widen, and in the next second, a sharp pain blossomed on his hip and a swear tumbled out of his mouth at the same time that a gasp tore out of Mihashi’s.

“O-Oh, Abe-kun, are - ?!” Mihashi said, face suddenly going pale as Abe dropped his pole and took a step back. “I’m so - I thought you would - ”

Abe let out a breath through his teeth as he reached down to peel up his shirt to examine the damage, but before he could, long fingers reached out and plucked his shirt out of the way, Mihashi’s body crowding close as he looked down at the quickly purpling bruise on Abe’s hip looking like he’d murdered someone. “Mihashi - ”

“Ohhh,” Mihashi warbled, pressing his hand tenderly to the flesh around Abe’s wound and causing him to freeze, staring at the top of Mihashi’s head, speechless. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to… I thought you were going to…”

“Hey,  _hey_ ,” Abe called, reaching up to clutch Mihashi’s shoulder when the blond didn’t respond right away. Mihashi finally managed to look up, tears glittering on his lashes and face flushed with the promise of a hiccuping sob, and Abe was very suddenly  _very_  aware of the hand on his hip, a finger dipped beneath the waistband of his pants to push them off his new bruise, the other hand curled in his shirt to hold it up, and Mihashi was… he was very close, and his eyes were so big, and Abe couldn’t swallow like this - couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything except feel his hand on Mihashi’s shoulder move. He wanted to look to see the skin his thumb was caressing, to see if it looked as soft as it felt, but somehow Abe instead looked to Mihashi’s lips, fascinated by the way they were quivering, and then suddenly wet with a quick dart of Mihashi’s tongue, and Abe swallowed a groan before he could even taste it in his throat.

What pulled him out of his trance, Abe didn’t know - whether it was one of the cadets whispering something just right for his brain to register it, or if Mihashi had done something, or if he’d come to his own senses, or maybe it was his phone - but he  _did_  notice his phone, a text tone that said someone was trying to contact him. He blinked once, then twice, and then he realized he’d been staring at Mihashi’s mouth, his left hand caressing the skin of Mihashi’s throat and the two of them standing  _very_  close together, and in a split second, all of the heat of the earth rushed to Abe’s entire face, from his ears down to his collar bones.

“Um, I, um, phone… phone,” Abe said intelligently, stepping back, shirt falling back down to cover both the bruise and the invisible place where his skin was seared with Mihashi’s handprint. He lifted his shirt and found his phone tucked on top of his catcher’s glove, the light flashing to show he had a new message. He pulled up the screen, and as soon as he saw the name attached to it, he felt his heart go from ten thousand beats to none.

 

[Haruna Motoki]  
[19:27 we need to talk]

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> h... happy birthday, akimaru...


	18. calculation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FWAHHHhh goodness this chapter got away from me. whoops.
> 
> and here's some ART from my super-cute nee-chan, bridges [HERE](http://oldbridges.tumblr.com/post/114141679748/old-sprots-pacrim-au-doodles-o-but-for-me-there%22), also featuring the haikyuu!! pacrim au, 'but for me there is a storm'. man wouldn't that be cool if it was canon??????(!) hehehehe.....
> 
> thanks for kudos/comments/feedback and please enjoy!!

It took a moment for Abe’s heart to begin working again, somewhere between the fluttery hummingbird beat Mihashi’s skin seemed to alight and the iceberg of emotion clinging to Haruna’s text. He moved his thumb, just a bit so the screen didn’t dim and he could read the message again, a hollow hole in his gut where an icy something, he didn’t know what, spilled onto the floor and pooled at his feet.

A flutter of motion at his elbow had Abe reaching a finger up to click the lock button, teeth sinking into his lower lip in time to the blackening of his screen.

“A-Abe-kun, who…?” Mihashi asked, genuinely interested. Abe spent a second gathering himself before he tucked his phone into his pocket. It weight down heavily at his hip, keeping him from doing more than pivoting to face his partner.

“Haruna,” he answered simply, and he watched as Mihashi’s face fell into a careful neutral betrayed only by a tiny wrinkle at his brow. Abe studied the expression, waited for Mihashi’s hazel eyes to make the slow trek back up from his collar bones to meet his eyes, tongue darting out to lick his lips before he spoke.

“Aren’t… are you not going to answer him?”

Abe shook his head after Mihashi’s question, turning away and reaching down for his shirt where he’d put it back down onto the bench. “I’m tired. I’ll text him tomorrow,” he said, threading his head through the cotton and pulling it over his head. His arms followed, and he pulled the black down to his hips, unbuckling his belt as he looked over his shoulder to see Mihashi fiddling with his fingers. “Hey, get your stuff. We should get to bed early tonight since we didn’t sleep last night.”

Mihashi looked down at his hands before he clenched them and then nodded, stepping around Abe to his own pile of things. He pulled his head through the neck hole, blond hair curling about where it wasn’t slicked down by sweat, cheeks still flushed from exertion peeking through. Abe tucked in his own shirt, then sat down on the bench to pull his boots on, staring down at the laces as his mind went from Mihashi’s face to the text burning a hole in his pocket.

He thought back to all of the long days he’d spent at Nishiura, from the first helicopter ride south to the moment a soft beep had brought him out of whatever trance Mihashi’s trembling lips had left him in. Every second in between, and this was the first time Haruna had reached out to him. The thought blackened his thoughts, and he pulled his laces a little too tightly. He reached down, releasing a bit of the tension with a soft sigh, then closed his eyes and tied his shoes without the chokehold to his foot.

As soon as his shoes were on, Abe opened his eyes and looked over to see Mihashi waiting on him, hands clasped behind his back and eyes focused on the floor at Abe’s feet. Abe stared at him for a second, waiting, and sure enough, Mihashi’s gaze eventually met his own, blinking a few times before he looked back down, staring at his feet. Abe sighed, standing up and reaching a hand to rest it on Mihashi’s shoulder. It was warm from their workout, and it lowered just enough beneath his touch for him to notice. “Come on, Mihashi. Let’s go to bed.”

“O-okay,” Mihashi mumbled, but Abe stopped, reaching up and pinching Mihashi’s nose between two fingers. “Wh - ?!” he spluttered, reaching up to hide his nose from Abe’s prying fingers with both hands smacking to his face.

“Get that look off your face. Izumi said he was going to do something so we can Drift tomorrow, remember? The sooner we go to bed, the sooner we can wake up and go try it out.” Mihashi’s face broke into a smile as his hands dropped back to his sides - not quite the same elated smile he’d gotten after their first Drift, not quite that flash of brilliant summer sun, but something close, something like a dewy spring, as slow as melting ice. It still wasn’t quite right yet, though: Mihashi’s shoulders were still a little too high, his brows still furrowed, but when Abe removed his hand from Mihashi’s shoulder to trail his hand down to Mihashi’s hand for one last soft squeeze, Mihashi’s fingers tightened back, and it was enough for now.

They left the Kwoon Combat Room and stepped out into the hall, down to the elevator where Mihashi pressed the button and then stood next to Abe, leaning close in as he whispered, “Do you think Izumi-kun will really make it so we can Drift?”

Abe blinked down at Mihashi, wondering why on Earth he felt the need to whisper. “Well, I guess they’ve got ways they can tweak the calibrations. If anyone could, it’s probably him.”

Mihashi pouted sourly. “Why didn’t… before?”

Abe looked at his reflection in the silver door of the elevator, lips pressing a bit more tightly together as he contemplated it. That was a good question, actually, he thought, before remembering Izumi’s expression in their room, the cool calculation hidden beneath the layer of nonchalant sass. It was perfectly possible that whatever he was doing wasn’t the most vanilla approach. Then again, if it got them into the Jaeger, that was all that really mattered.

The elevator door slid open and Abe stepped inside behind Mihashi, nose wrinkling when he could smell the sweat wafting off his still-steaming body. He looked down at his skin and plucked at his stained shirt, pulling it away from his chest. It was probably about time for them to do laundry anyway, though.

The ride down to their floor was as silent as it usually was between them, and when the elevator finally stopped and the door opened again, Abe stepped off first, reaching into his pocket to grab the ring of keys that jingled noisily in the empty hall. He walked up quickly to their door, unlocking it and pushing it open while reaching over to flick on the light. It blinked on after a few tries, and Abe reached over his head to pull off his shirt before Mihashi was even in behind him.

“You take the first shower,” Abe said, and Mihashi nodded, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door behind himself. Abe sighed, walking over to his bed and pinching the sheet back to look at the state of his bed. Yep, probably time to do laundry, he mused, unbuckling his belt and pulling it through his belt loops lethargically, rolling it up to place on the dresser. He turned on the lamp, then walked back over to their door to flick off the overhead light, letting the dullness of the soft yellow fill the room instead of the harsh white.

The hiss of Mihashi’s shower echoed around, and Abe walked over to their kitchen as he also stripped off his undershirt, holding it in his left hand as he bent down to pull open the fridge with his right. They were a little low on juice, maybe a couple more days before they were out. Probably about time to make a commissary run, he thought, taking the orange juice and shaking it before twisting off the cap and taking a swig. He looked down at the label as he swished the acrid sweetness around his mouth, swallowing as he replaced the lid again. He put the orange juice back inside their fridge and shut the door, knowing that if he didn’t he’d chug it all down and they wouldn’t have any for their breakfast. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, stepping over to the sink to get some water instead. As he stood at the counter, his eyes fell to the lingering hints of the black scorch mark on the wall. He felt his lips curl into a hint of an amused smile, reaching over to scrape a bit with his thumb nail and flicking off the detritus.

By the time he finished a second glass of water, he heard the quick sound of a twisting knob and the water from the shower shutting off. Abe put down his glass, turning around to watch the door to their bathroom where steam billowed just noticeably from beneath the door. He leaned back against the counter as he waited, finger tapping against the edge by his hip, eyes closing shut as he tried to match the sounds he was hearing to actions. Water turning on, probably Mihashi brushing his teeth. A few seconds later came the sound of a toothbrush making it way around Mihashi’s mouth, and somehow, Abe imagined Mihashi making a funny face in the fogged mirror, maybe wrinkling up his nose or something, and he felt himself laugh at the thought. He opened his eyes again, staring at the table between him and the bathroom door until a few minutes later when it opened, revealing a waft of steam and a pink-cleaned Mihashi, white fluffy towel around his waist and blond hair slicked mostly to his head.

“Your turn!” Mihashi chirped, padding with slapping wet feet over to their dresser for clothes to sleep in, and Abe pushed off the counter, slipping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. It was already smotheringly humid from Mihashi’s shower, filling his lungs with heavy, hot air as he stripped down and cranked on the shower. He got in, grabbing the soap and a clean washcloth and scrubbing himself clean, head to toe, until he was pretty sure he would sparkle if the light was right. He stood just a little longer under the foray, head fallen back and letting the water caress him from collar bone down to his toes, the rivulets like warm fingertips on sore muscles. He’d have to ask Mihashi if there were any baths on base, he decided, reaching up to turn off the water at last.

He stepped out and toweled himself dry, then walked over to the bathroom sink to snag his toothbrush out of the cup. He looked into the fogged mirror, then glanced down at his hip where a pretty bruise had blossomed just beneath his skin, the only visible mark Mihashi had ever left on him. He lifted his fingers and traced the clear outline of a Kwoon Combat Room pole, not quite the same as a baseball but equally familiar. It was still a bit tender, and probably would be for about a week. He closed his eyes as the traumatized look on Mihashi’s face drifted behind them, biting down hard on his toothbrush in frustration before he resumed brushing his teeth.

With that train of thought came the odd moment when they were dueling, the flash of just  _knowing_  where Mihashi’s pole was about to go that had startled him still. His arm slowed from an angry back-and-forth toothbrushing to a more thoughtful motion, his eyes gazing on the sink but not seeing. Well, it was probably just that they’d been sparring long enough for him to really have a good grasp on how Mihashi fought, he decided, spitting out the white foam and washing out the rest.

Abe walked into their room after wrapping the towel around his waist, the bathroom light clicking off noisily as he shut the door behind him. He followed Mihashi’s drip trail over to their dresser, pulling on a pair of boxer briefs. He then plucked the towel off from his waist and used it to scrub at his head one last time, then he grabbed the wet pile Mihashi had left on their table and hung both of them up in case he didn’t get a chance to order their laundry tomorrow. He returned to the lamp and cut it off, but not before he peered up into Mihashi’s bunk to see the blond’s back to him, shoulder blades just making an impression in the too-big shirt. He stared for a second, startled as he usually was at just how wide Mihashi’s shoulders were, always a little more than he expected, but before his thoughts could get too far, he plunged the room into darkness and grabbed his phone.

Abe lied down after plugging in his phone to charge overnight, pulling up his alarm to set it for their usual time. The light burned his eyes in the dark, but he held it before his face for a moment, a nebulous thought in his mind unclear until he was opening his messages and rereading the text Haruna had sent him.  _We need to talk_ , he’d said, so little and yet so much, four more words than Abe had really expected ever hearing from him. He read them again, as if perhaps doing so would cause them to expand on their meaning, tell him what Haruna needed to say, what to expect for when he called. It was a little late to rub it in Abe’s face that he’d bagged another kill while Abe was playing house with Mihashi, not to mention that it wasn’t really Haruna’s style to actively be an asshole. It was just part of who he was, as natural as the cocky grin that stole the swooning hears of everyone around him.

And then, a bizarre thought, a thought that had his breath hitch in his chest, every process in his body hiccuping, a thought that, that what if - what if Haruna was reaching out to him to call him back. He imagined it, imagined pressing the call button and hearing the click before Haruna’s voice, carelessly seductive and ‘ _Takaya, I need you to come back. Come back to Musashino. I need you here. I need you. I need you, Takaya.’_

He clenched his teeth against a muted sound, looking away from his phone and tossing it carelessly on the dresser, lying on his back as he pressed a forearm heavily into his eyes. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled shakily, lowering his arm to his side and staring at the metal coils depressed above him with Mihashi’s weight. Mihashi, whose eyes were as warm as his hands and whose one smile had lit up Abe’s world to show he’d never really known what color had been before. Mihashi who trusted him even when he was the one who should trust him least. Mihashi who worked harder when no one was looking, Mihashi who got lost in his clothes as easily as his thoughts, Mihashi whose mouth could so easily form the plea,  _‘Abe-kun… I need you, Abe-kun… I need you here…I need you…’_

Abe reached both hands up and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to blot out the vision of Mihashi standing in front of him, head tilted back and eyes too-wide with quivering lips that said those words. He huffed out, the air cutting through the quiet of their room, and then there was a muted shift in the bed above him, and in the darkness, a shape at the side of Abe’s vision. He blinked, eyes watering from being pressed so hard, and then he made out Mihashi’s hand dangling from the top bunk. Except it wasn’t  _dangling_ , as that was a careless placement of limbs - not when Mihashi’s fingers curled so perfectly around Abe’s when he tentatively reached out and pressed their palms together - not tightly, not enough to hurt - just enough for warmth to share between contrasting skins, just enough for Abe to close his eyes and sigh out a softer sound. A more rounded, restful noise. He thought about saying thank you, opened his mouth, licked his lips around the words, but before he could, Mihashi’s hand squeezed just a bit, and Abe felt the response before he’d even spoken.

He felt the smile curl on his lips in perfect unison to their fingers together, and he closed his eyes to drift off to sleep.

Their hands didn’t stay clenched, however, as Abe woke to the sound of his cell phone blaring noisily and his arm was at his side. Mihashi’s arm was still over the side of the bed, fingers curled slightly in his sleep, but it retracted as Mihashi grumbled and wiggled around in his bunk. Abe sat up, grabbing his phone and turning off the alarm, then walked into the bathroom as soon as he put his feet on the ground and stretched into a stand, oddly embarrassed to see Mihashi just yet.

By the time he came out, shaved and relieved, Mihashi was already messing around in the kitchen, shirt hitched up on one hip as he hovered over a pan of what looked like scrambled eggs when Abe crowded closer. Mihashi blinked up at him, then smiled goofily, which somehow had Abe’s insides twisting in an embarrassed knot again. He shuffled over to the rice cooker, taking care of that while he waited for whatever this was to pass.

They ate in silence and washed their dishes side by side, Mihashi handing Abe the clean plates for him to dry and put away in the cabinet above his head. After wiping down the counter and putting the pan beneath the stove, Abe slung the dry cloth on his shoulder, peeking down at his watch and then looking at Mihashi.

“Let’s go see if Izumi’s done working his magic,” Abe said, and Mihashi nodded, about to head for the door before seeming to remember that he was still in his pajamas. He turned on his heel, shooting a sheepish look to Abe, walking quickly over to their dresser. Abe stared as Mihashi stripped his shirt over his head, exposing his shoulder blades curving beneath taut pale skin, and Abe suddenly had an intense mental image of exactly where his tanlines would go after a summer of baseball. He pulled his eyes to the floor in front of his feet, feeling the burning along the back of his neck as if he’d been touched by summer sun himself at the thought.

A few more seconds of rustling and zips, and Mihashi pranced back over, hopping on one foot as he pulled his second sock on while trying to get back over to where Abe was standing. Abe rolled his eyes, reaching out and putting a hand on Mihashi’s shoulder to steady him long enough for the blond to finish wiggling his toes into place, and after a quick pitstop in the bathroom to brush their teeth, they were at the door, pulling on their boots and walking out into the hall.

An elevator ride and short walk down the hall later, Abe opened the door to the simulation LOCCENT with Mihashi at his elbow. Inside, Izumi was standing next to Hamada, arms crossed and the two of them standing over an ocean of wiring protruding from the bottom of the long row of computers, Hamada looking about as frustrated as Izumi looked exhausted. Hamada looked up, and when he saw them, he flashed them a tired smile.

“Hey, you two. We’ve just about got it… I think… Do we have it?” Hamada asked Izumi, who exhaled and ran a hand through his hair as he nudged the cords back into the compartment beneath the computers with his toe.

“It’ll be better, for sure. Might need a bit more tweaking before we’re done,” Izumi answered before taking the screwdriver out of his pocket and pressing it into Hamada’s palm. “Here. You put this together. I need to talk to these two.”

Abe watched as Hamada shot Izumi’s back a nasty look, getting on his hands and knees to put the metal paneling back and screwing it into place, then diverted his attention to the mechanic as he stepped in front of them, hands in his pockets. “Okay, so, basically, I messed with the calibration of the Pons System itself instead of the simulator core. Technical details aside, you’re going to feel a bit of a lag hooking up to the Simulator, but that’s on purpose. Just do your thing as per usual and we’ll see if it works.”

There was a second of hesitation, and Abe felt the confusion from Mihashi as much as he felt it in himself. “Wait, what?” Abe finally said, crossing his arms. “You put a delay in the Pons System? What does that even  _mean_?”

Izumi huffed out, pulling his hands out of his pockets to rest them on his hips. “Well, I could explain it to you, but… Let’s see… It’s sort of like, when you pitch in a game, you don’t send your pitcher out there without going into the bullpen first, right? You’ve gotta warm up or else he won’t throw right.”

Abe chewed on the metaphor. “So… With a delay in the Pons System…?”

Izumi rolled his eyes. “Don’t they teach you this in the Academy? Okay, when you Drift with someone, you connect to each other through the Pons System, which is what allows you to control the Jaeger. You with me?” Abe and Mihashi both nodded, because Izumi’s bizarre modifications aside, that part  _was_  in the Jaeger Academy. “Right. Normally, two pilots use the Neural Handshake to balance the neural load of handling the Pons System, but you two freaks don’t do that. I talked to Oki and Shiga-sensei, but neither of them have ever heard of it happening, and according to Hamada, you two just drop straight into a Drift.”

“This is all old - ” Abe started sourly, though he stopped when there was a slight pinch on his arm. He looked down to see Mihashi giving him a chastising look before he looked back to Izumi, and the utter shock that  _Mihashi_  had told him to hush and let Izumi talk had his jaw clamped shut and eyes back on their mechanic.

“Thanks, Mihashi,” Izumi said shortly, pointer finger tapping on his hip as he continued. “Well, very long explanation short, I’m hoping that delaying the connection to the Pons System itself will give you two longer to balance your immediate Drift, and then you can balance the neural load of the Jaeger together, instead of trying to balance each other  _and_  the Pons System.”

“…Warming up in the bullpen before playing the game, instead of pitching and warming up at the same time,” Abe said, and Izumi shot him a grin.

“Yeah, I had a feeling that metaphor would get through your baseball brain.” Izumi shrugged, gesturing over to the Simulator with a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder. “In any case, this is pretty much exactly opposite of the usual calibrations we do, so I have no idea if this is even going to work until you two get in there and try it out, so go get suited up and come on around.”

“Thanks, Izumi-kun! You’re the best!” Mihashi said, fists clenched excitedly at his chest level. Izumi grinned and ruffled his hair, earning a squawk in response. Mihashi then looked up to Abe, eyes practically glittering with excitement. “Come on, Abe-kun, let’s go try it!”

Before he even waited for Abe’s response, Mihashi dashed down the hall to the locker room, leaving Abe to follow behind with a mixture of confusion and equal excitement brewing inside his chest. He still wasn’t quite sure exactly what Izumi had done, or what he meant by there being a ‘hiccup’, but the fact that this could be it, this could be the thing that allowed them to Drift well enough to actually pilot the Jaeger… He felt the wild smile on his face, pushing the door open to the locker a little harder than was probably decent.

Mihashi was already half-naked when he walked in, waiting patiently with his shirt off for their five minute hand-holding. Or rather, their five and a half minute, Abe remembered, pulling out his phone for the alarm and seeing where he’d changed it last time. Well, it made sense, as it took them time to sink into the meditation, he thought, reaching out to press his palm against Mihashi’s. There was a split second of hesitation, and then Abe threaded their fingers together, locking their hands and letting them rest at their thighs, standing a little closer because of it than usual.

“Ready?” he asked, and Mihashi nodded, closing his eyes and exhaling softly. They were just close enough for Abe to feel it on his face, still tinged a bit with Mihashi’s toothpaste. He closed his eyes as soon as he hit the button and watched the countdown start, focusing on his breathing before he felt the soft puff of Mihashi’s again, and then he was concentrating instead on Mihashi’s breathing, counting the seconds between each new gentle caress of Mihashi’s breath mingling with his own, and just a bare hint of Mihashi’s pulse beneath his hand. And then, suddenly, that was what he was focusing on, his thumb moving without him really thinking about it to sweep on the underside of Mihashi’s wrist, tracing each beat and counting the seconds, his gut twisting when he realized that they were getting faster.

And then the alarm went off on Abe’s phone, bringing him to blink out of his mind space and into himself again, Mihashi in front of him doing the same thing. Wordlessly, Abe pressed a button on his phone to silence the noise, Mihashi sparing him one last lingering glance before slipping their hands apart with a step back. Abe exhaled slowly, rolling his fingers into a loose fist before focusing back on getting into his electromyograph suit. Abe went to his locker and opened it, pulling his shirt over his head and folding it onto the shelf, following it with the rest of his clothes following. He tugged the stretchy fabric on, zipping it up before turning to see Mihashi staring at him expectantly, flopping the sleeves around.

Abe huffed out a laugh as he stepped over, holding one sleeve up while Mihashi wiggled his fingers through. “You’re going to have to learn how to do this eventually, you know,” he said. “When a Kaiju comes, we’re going to have to get dressed in a hurry.”

“It’s… probably faster when Abe-kun does it,” Mihashi said, but when Abe met his gaze, there was a second there where he wondered if Mihashi was just pulling his leg. Well… they’d practice that when the time came, he figured, zipping Mihashi up from gut to throat and patting his chest twice before turning to go down the hall.

The technicians swarmed around them in a familiar pattern, putting their armor into place and handing them their helmets. Abe pulled it over his head, feeling the relay gel fill and then release, and as soon as he blinked his eyes open again, he stepped forward into his boots, clicking them into place. A glance to Mihashi showed they were both ready to go.

They walked out of the gear room, passing through the doors and into the Simulator. Abe took his place to the left, holding still while the rig screwed itself into his armor. The lights around him lit up, the system waking up as Hamada fired it up outside. He looked over to Mihashi, who was taking in the status of the process before glancing at Abe. A flash of one of those half-smiles he gave, lips pressed together, told Abe all he needed to know that Mihashi was still a little nervous. Not that he blamed him, he thought, looking forward and relaxing a bit into the rig. Izumi’s admission that he’d fiddled with the Pons System outside of any way it had been messed with before was definitely not a comforting thought.

“Okay, guys, I’m going to initiate Drift sequence. You ready?” Hamada asked over the intercom. Abe heard the breath Mihashi took, and saw his arm raise out of the corner of his eye to press the intercom button.

“We’re ready, Hama-chan,” Mihashi said, looking to Abe, who nodded. Abe then closed his eyes as the Simulator’s automated countdown towards Drift began, clearing his mind of everything except the feel of putting on his catcher’s gear before a game, the way his fingers would always fit so perfectly in a glove, the dance between pitcher and catcher with a batter in between, and -

And then there was a sudden feeling of absolute nothingness - just long enough for him to experience it but not long enough for him to even consciously recognize what it was - before he was filled to the brim with  _pitching to Abe-kun lift my leg six steps red thread beneath my finger wiping the dusty sweat from my eyes_ and he and Mihashi were Drifting, the same feeling that was familiar to him of not only his mind in his head but Mihashi’s too, each glorious summer-sun inch of it, but it was different, more complete, like before he’d been holding Mihashi’s hand through a glove and now it was skin-to-skin,  _feels like pitching to Abe-kun but even better because I feel him feeling it too_ , an agreement that that was a pretty cool way to put it in his mind, a shimmering, sparkling gold emotion in the back of his head that felt like what Mihashi’s grin looked like.

Before Abe could really sink into the Drift, there was a sudden pressure in his head, the familiar vacuum feeling of a Neural Handshake but only lasting a fraction of a second. There was a brief fumbling of panic, a flash of  _( - sitting inside the dugout, eyes on Kanou’s pitching form which had gotten even better over his first year of being on the mound for official games, much better than it was just in practice games, he looked good, better than Mihashi did - )_ and  _don’t chase the rabbit, Mihashi, don’t chase the rabbit,_ and then it was stable again, a mental image that wasn’t his and yet was of his own thumb running over the inside of Mihashi’s wrist,  _that feels nice I hope Abe-kun doesn’t notice how fast my heart is beating,_ and then it was exactly as it had been the last time they’d been in a Drift, and Abe opened his eyes at last to see the inside of the Simulator.

“Okay, good, solid Drift, just like normal,” Hamada said over the intercom. “You’re holding firm at 98% Drift Compatibility. How do you feel?”

The test, Abe thought, looking at Mihashi who looked back at him. Mihashi needed to lift his arm to press the button to call LOCCENT. Mihashi’s hazel eyes locked with his, and then there was a flicker of agreement between them. They could do this, they were  _going_ to do this.

Abe watched Mihashi look up to the call button, felt the moment Mihashi’s arm twitched to raise to press the button, and he closed his eyes, focusing completely on the echo of Mihashi’s mind in his own,  _raise your arm, raise your arm, Mihashi, raise it, you can do it, raise your arm_ and -

 _Click_. “We’re good, Hama-chan,” came Mihashi’s voice, and Abe opened his eyes to see Mihashi’s finger pressing the button, eyes glancing over his shoulder to meet Abe’s with a wide grin on his face. Abe felt an answering expression on his own face, delight cascading through his veins like champagne. He took in a breath as Mihashi’s arm fell back down to his side, a brightness radiating in the Drift and just about blinding Abe from the inside out. They could move. The next question - could they  _fight._

Hamada crackled back on, his thoughts aligned with Abe’s. “Okay, good, awesome. I’m going to see if I can start up the Simulation, then. Let’s see how you two hold up through that.”

A soft exhale had Abe relaxed against the rig, the familiar feel of the calm before the drop filling his body from ears to toes. He felt Mihashi borrow some of it, felt him try to relax as well, pushed some of his calm into Mihashi’s mind as much as he pushed the heat from his hand when they were meditating. It seemed to work, at least until the split second where the Simulator tapped into their Drift. Abe doubled forward as if he’d been punched in the gut, a crackle of pain spreading from the inside of his skull to every inch of his body not too unlike the flare that left him scarred, made worse for the fact that it wasn’t just him, it was Mihashi, too. But then it  _was_  just him, searing and split down the middle until he was hardly standing on his own.

“Mihashi…?” he said, looking over to see Mihashi clutching his helmet carefully. His breath caught in his chest, but then he saw Mihashi strip off the helmet and shake his head, looking over at him with eyes wide with fear.

“A-Abe-kun!” Mihashi said, scrambling out of his side of the rig and standing up to take the three steps over to Abe. Hands clutched surely at his armor as the rig unscrewed from Abe’s armor, and even as Abe swatted gently at Mihashi’s hands, he only gripped more tightly.

“Mihashi, I’m fine, you can let go,” he said, feeling the rig unscrew and standing straight. “See?”

“B-But, that was…” Mihashi stuttered, his grip shifting from one to hold Abe to one almost more suited for comforting him, still as tight but with a thread of desperation. “I saw…”

Abe blinked into Mihashi’s tormented eyes as he tried to decipher what Mihashi was saying, and then he thought about the second when they were falling how he’d thought about falling out of the Drift with Haruna. He grimaced, taking the helmet off his head and holding onto it while Mihashi gazed into his face carefully. There was no way of telling exactly what Mihashi had gotten from that split second of phantom pain, whether it was the pain itself, or the terror of Haruna’s discovery, or something completely different altogether. Whatever it was, it had Mihashi shaking in front of him, pale-faced and tipping forward until his forehead was pressed against Abe’s shoulder, fingers still gripping Abe’s armor like a lifeline.

“Mihashi, come on, I’m fine, I promise,” Abe murmured, reaching up to cup Mihashi’s elbows, pulling him back gently until he could see the tears clinging to Mihashi’s eyelashes. Mihashi’s mouth trembled, and then his eyes closed, and with a deep inhale and a quivery exhale to follow, Mihashi stepped back, wiping at his face with his palms to clear the ruddiness as best as he could. Then, he nodded, and turned around to pick up his helmet where he’d dropped it in his concern.

They left the Simulator and entered the makeshift LOCCENT to see Hamada and Izumi peering down at the computer thoughtfully. Like before, Hamada was the first to notice them, waving them over with a floppy wrist as he sighed out.

“Well, that was super good right up to the point where I started the Simulator,” Hamada reported, and Abe nodded.

“We didn’t have a problem moving this time, either.” He looked to Izumi. “Whatever you did worked, but we need it to work more. Is there any way you can get more of a delay there? Or something?”

Izumi scratched the back of his head as he scowled down at the computer panel in front of him, eyes closing heavily as he made a soft noise. “Maybe I can figure something out. You two go on and do something else for a while and I’ll call you when I’m ready to give it a shot.”

Abe nodded. “Well, can we go ahead and try it again now? It might have been because it was our first time going into the Simulator together, so - ”

“Yeah, definitely not,” Izumi interrupted, hand dropping to clutch his hip to mirror the other. “That’s one drawback with what’s going on here… With your immediate connection, then the connection to the Pons, that’s just short of too much for your brains to handle. Once you drop out, you’ll have to take a break to rest or else you’ll totally fry your brains.” Mihashi deflated next to him, shoulders drooping and matching the sinking feeling in Abe’s chest. “Besides. I’ve been up way too long, and if I try to mess with this now, I might mess up and actually fry you before you even get that far. So no. I’m going to go take a nap, and then I’m going to come back in here and mess with it. Go do something mindless for a while.”

Abe sighed, then turned to Mihashi, who looked up at him with the same disappointed look he knew was on his face. He jerked his head towards the back of the Simulator and turned around, leading the way to go get their armor removed.

“Abe-kun, that was… good, though,” Mihashi said, and Abe couldn’t help but look at him in shock. Mihashi jolted at the snap of his head, but then looked down to the helmet he was clutching between his palms, or maybe he was looking at his reflection in the plastic, Abe wasn’t sure. “I mean, we… We Drifted and moved! That’s… That’s the best we’ve done, so far. And it was…” Mihashi’s face shifted, less focused, lips parting as he slowed to a stop and bringing Abe to do the same, his hazel gaze tracing through the space between them until their gazes were locked. “It was…”

Abe felt his throat tighten around words he didn’t know how to say, knowing exactly what Mihashi was talking about. Even for him, someone who knew what it was like to Drift, he’d felt it; that whatever had happened between them had been something unusual, something magical. He’d been in a Drift, and that had been… something else. He stared back at Mihashi as long as he could bear to, then looked away, feeling the heat crawl back onto his nape and up around to the tips of his ears.

“Let’s go to the shooting range… That should be mindless enough,” he suggested, voice loud and awkward even to his own ears, but Mihashi just nodded, letting the moment hang between them like a sheet of stars, unspoken but equally brilliant.

\----------

Izumi woke to the muffled sound of his alarm from where he’d burrowed under his pillow to sleep, hand reaching over to grab his phone and hit the goddamned silence button. He lied in bed for a few seconds after the silence filled his room again, then sat up slowly, eyes still shut until he blinked them open reluctantly. With a sigh, he kicked off his quilt and stood, leaning back until his spine cracked a few times. He exhaled sharply, going into a slouch before he straightened, walking over to his bedroom to walk out into the hall.

The Shatterdome was still somewhat noisy despite the fact that Striker Cleanup had been repaired, though it was a far cry from its usual bustle after a Kaiju attack. Izumi strolled on over to Big Windup, patting its metal foot as he craned his neck to take a peek up at it. Still in mint condition, yet to see battle and not with a single scratch. He ran his hand along the cool metal, then hefted himself up onto the foot, reclining back a bit against the ankle as he studied the coming and going of people on the Shatterdome floor. He crossed his legs, reaching over to his cart to grab a wrench to twirl on his hand as he thought.

Abe and Mihashi had definitely improved their Drift time with the delay to the Pons System, he thought, and the strengthened Drift between them had enabled them to move apparently with no problem. But it still wasn’t completely balanced, not if they fell out the moment the Simulator tried to encroach on their bridge. They still needed something to help them balance the neural load, or at least distract them from the hitch long enough for the bridge to connect to the Simulator, something that was reliable enough for them to use in the heat of fighting a Kaiju, and -

“Izumi!”

Snatched out of his thoughts, Izumi looked down with a sour expression only for it to fall completely flat when he saw Nishihiro approaching, hand lifted in a wave as he crossed over to stand just beside Big Windup’s foot. “Oh, hey,” he said, watching as Nishihiro fidgeted a bit. “What’s up?”

“Well, I came to thank you for the Kaiju information, and I was wondering if I could ask you a favor, again,” Nishihiro said, looking up at him hopefully and cutting any kind of no Izumi could have possibly said on the edge of those deadly cheekbones. “I was wondering if you could possibly get me the Jaeger data as well.”

Izumi lifted his eyebrows, a teasing lilt of a smile tugging his lips. “Ooh, that’s a tough one… And you came all the way down here to ask instead of just calling me, huh?”

Nishihiro smiled charmingly. “Well, you’d have to give me your phone number before I can do that, Izumi.”

“Y’know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d sure say it sounds like you’re asking me for my digits, Nishi,” he teased, but the second Nishihiro spluttered and coughed into his hand, face bright red in the flash of an eye, Izumi felt the twist of embarrassment tight in his own gut as well. “G-Goddamn it, you’re not… Eurgh…” he groaned, smothering his face in his hands and groaning again when he felt the flash of heat against his palms.

As if that wasn’t horrid enough, he heard his name again, this time coming from none other than Mizutani. “Hey, Nishihiro! Uh, is Izumi okay? Wait, are  _you_  okay?!”

“F-Fine, I’m fine,” came Nishihiro’s stuttered out response, and Izumi pulled his hands away from his face long enough to shoot an absolutely  _foul_  look his way. All it earned him was a sheepish laugh and Nishihiro taking his phone out of his pocket, nervously glancing up at him as he scratched the side of his face. “So, uh…?”

“Yeah, hold on,” Izumi grumbled, reciting his number to Nishihiro and then feeling it vibrate when Nishihiro sent him a text so he could get his number as well. “Anyway, yeah, sure, I’ll have it to you later,” he said, and Nishihiro shot him a grin that just about had his heart fluttering straight out of his chest. He stared after him for a second, then sighed out, only to watch as Mizutani turned to go back to do whatever it was he’d been doing before he’d walked over. “Oh, hey, Mizutani, hold on a sec.”

“What?” Mizutani asked, looking over his shoulder with a pouty expression.

“Come  _here_ , damn it - okay. Think for a second for me, okay? How would you delay the Pons System from connecting to a pilot?” Izumi asked.

Mizutani’s answer was a bark of laughter. “Are you crazy? Why would you want to do that? It’s better to accelerate the connection, dummy. The longer it takes for the Pons to connect, the longer the Neural Handshake and the greater the chance that one of the pilots will fall into a R.A.B.I.T.”

Mizutani paused, but Izumi sat up, legs dangling off the side of Big Windup’s foot as he stared at the ground. “No, don’t stop. Keep talking. Pretend I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

Mizutani crossed his arms and tilted his head, then huffed out a breath to blow his bangs out of his face before he sighed, threading his fingers through to put it in a ponytail. “Okay, well… You want to accelerate the connection, which is why we went to helmets compatible with the relay gel and we went to the half-wires in the electromyograph suits, since that speeds up the connection between the pilots through the Pons and - ”

“Okay, stop,” Izumi said, leaning forward until his elbows were resting on his knees and his fingers were tented over his nose. And then, in a whiz of activity in his brain, he sat up straight, spine straightening and blue eyes locking with Mizutani’s skeptical expression. “So… we went to the half-wires in the Mark III line, right?” Mizutani nodded. “Well… hypothetically speaking, then, three-eighths wires would go even faster than the half-wires.”

Mizutani sighed out. “I mean, yeah, sure, but we tried that. The three-eighths wires weren’t sufficient to gap the Pons at the concentration that we had with the half-wires, and the higher the concentration of wires - ”

“Comes the increased neural reaction, yeah, I know,” Izumi said, tapping his fingers on the side of Big Windup before he slipped off, walking though the Shatterdome before he turned, giving Mizutani a two-fingered salute. “Thanks, Mizutani.”

He turned his back to Mizutani’s absolutely baffled face, jogging over to the elevator and mashing the button to go up to Oki’s office. His foot tapped on the ground as he waited for the damn machine to get into place, then brushed past the few people stepping off to get on, pushing the button for Oki’s floor and leaning against the wall. His eyes flicked up to the numbers, watching them pass, and as soon as the doors opened, he was out into the hall and through the maze to Oki’s office.

He entered with a single knock, not waiting for Oki to tell him to come in. At his desk, Oki looked up with a startled expression, mouth opening around a surprised noise but interrupted by Izumi’s quick speech. “Ok, so, hypothetically speaking. Electromygraph suit made out of three-eighths wire instead of half-wire. It’ll probably be double the concentration, give or take, and a helmet with the thinner plastic edge that’s coming with the Mark IV line to take more relay gel. How much faster would that get a Drift going if there’s no Pons System?”

Oki blinked into Izumi’s face for a few second, then he shook his head, reaching around to grab a sheet of scrap paper. “O-Okay, hold on, repeat that again?” Izumi did, more slowly, watching as Oki scribbled down all the qualifications that he’d said, and then looked down for a few seconds, tenting his hands as he studied the notes. He looked up after a few minutes, tapping the pen on his desk between his fingers. “This is for Abe and Mihashi, right?”

“Yeah. I fiddled with the calibrations today to delay the connection of the Pons System to their Drift, to see if… I don’t know, if maybe they could Drift together first, get that all worked out and then try to connect with the Jaeger. It worked at first, but they dropped out as soon as the Simulation started, so…”

“Hmm, I see,” Oki responded, looking back down. “Well, if you made these modifications… well, it wouldn’t be cheap, for sure… and the neural connection to the Jaeger would be stronger than it would with the typical electromyograph suits.” Izumi bit his lip, because that was a nice way of saying that Abe and Mihashi would both feel more pain when they got hit - twice the neural connections with twice the wiring probably meant twice the pain, too. “But… that said, it would get them… gosh, I don’t know, maybe an extra second to Drift? Maybe two, on the outside.”

“A whole second,” Izumi said, hissing out a relieved breath. “You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m not sure,” Oki said quickly. “There’s a  _reason_  P.P.D.C. only went with half-wires when they switched from the three-quarters, you know. I’d have to run all  _kinds_ of simulations, and do calculations that frankly are more befitting Nishihiro than myself, and - ”

“All I need to know is that I’m not gonna fry their brains if I put them in these suits and hook them up to a Jaeger,” Izumi interrupted, watching as Oki’s jaw clenched shut. He looked back down at the data, then sighed heavily.

“No, the neural load should be fine, but it’s close. And they’re going to need some seriously special training to go with the added neural load from the Jaeger. We’ve got pilots on suppression pills as it is, and to double the electromyograph nodes - ” Oki rubbed his temple with his fingers. “But… if it  _did_  work, the precision control that Jaeger would have from the added connection… it would be really incredible. Like,  _impossibly_  incredible. Abe and Mihashi could put Big Windup on a dime and keep it there without breaking a sweat.”

Izumi felt the grin flash across his face at the thought. “So, you think you can swing budget talks with the Marshal for me? I uh, I think she’d take it from you a bit better than she would take it from me. Maybe get Nishihiro working on those calculations you were talkin’ about? I mean, it’ll take, what? Two hours to get the suits rewired?”

“Well, maybe, if that, but - I’m quite sure Nishihiro’s busy, and - ”

“Nah, he’s free until sometime this afternoon,” Izumi drawled pleasantly, backing off to slip back down to the Shatterdome to get really friendly with his laptop for the sake of that shy charming smile still flashing behind his eyes. “Get Abe and Mihashi suited up. Trust me. They’ll take care of the rest.”

\----------

Abe knew he was sulking, but for the life of him, he couldn’t stop. Not that he was really even too bothered by it, not by the way Mihashi was visibly puffed up on the pride as their targets came sliding back towards them, Mihashi’s almost perfectly on the bulls eye each time, and Abe’s… well, it was a good thing Mihashi was the one in charge of the plasma rifle, he decided.

Abe unloaded his gun and placed it back into the bag, zipping it up and stepping out of the gun range with Mihashi just behind him. He took the ear muffs and safety glasses off, then handed them back to the clerk at the desk. He turned to see Mihashi holding his target like an award, flashing Abe a small smile when their eyes caught.

“You’ve been practicing when I wasn’t looking,” Abe accused lightly, though when Mihashi flushed bright red and stuttered out a protest that was not quite a fib but didn’t quite feel true, he raised his eyebrow and watched as Mihashi went even more incoherent than usual. He opened his mouth to ask just what the hell  _that_  was supposed to mean, but before he could, Mihashi’s cell phone chirped in his pocket, causing him to squawk and pluck it out.

“Hama-chan,” he said, swiping to answer and holding the phone up. “Hello? …Oh, um, yeah, okay…” Mihashi pulled his phone away from his face to glance at the screen, then screwed up his face for a second in thought before answering. “Maybe five minutes? Is that okay? …Yeah, okay, we’ll be there as soon as we can. Bye, Hama-chan!”

“What did he want? Five minutes for what?” Abe asked, following after Mihashi when the blond started walking out of the gun range and towards what was probably - yes, the elevator.

Mihashi looked over his shoulder as soon as he pressed the button, face pulled into an adorably confused expression. “He asked if we could come up to get measured for electromyograph suits,” Mihashi said, and with that sentence, Abe felt his stomach drop to his feet. “A-Abe-kun?!”

“ _Are you serious!?_ ” Abe said, reaching over to clench his fingers tightly in Mihashi’s shirt. “Mihashi, you’re absolutely  _positive_ that’s what he said?!” Mihashi nodded tentatively, and Abe fish-mouthed a few times as he tried to explain to Mihashi that  _no he wasn’t mad_  he was fucking  _elated_  and  _why aren’t you?!_  “Mihashi,  _we’re getting measured for electromyograph suits_.”

“…Y-yes?”

“ _Custom_  electromyograph suits. As in, hundreds of thousands of dollars of Jaeger equipment specifically tailored to you and me.” The elevator door slid open, and Abe pulled Mihashi on, hitting the button for the Simulator floor, fingers still clenched tightly in the blond’s shirt. “They wouldn’t  _do_  that unless we were - ”

“ _Oh_ ,” Mihashi suddenly said, eyes widening, mouth dropping open into that diamond bird shape he got, and then he straightened into a board, clenching Abe’s shirt excitedly in his fist. “You - You mean - We’re - ?!”

“I  _really_  doubt they’d do this unless we were,” Abe responded, heart beginning to thump in his chest at a million miles an hour before his brain caught up and processed the fact that it wasn’t real, not quite yet. “I mean, it’s not official, so we shouldn’t get our hopes up yet, but - ” Mihashi made a soft sound, all but crumpling against Abe’s chest sideways, hand still clutching his target and staring at his reflection in the elevator door. Abe raised his hand to catch Mihashi’s shoulder, keeping him upright with a soft grunt. He opened his mouth to tell Mihashi to stand up straight, but his jaw closed as soon as it opened, and his eyes went to the red numbers, passing by with seconds that felt as long as they were short.

“I want to have a cool pin like Tajima-kun with you, Abe-kun,” Mihashi muttered into his shirt, and not sure that he was really supposed to hear and sure that if he tried to tell Mihashi just how much he felt the same he'd mess it up, Abe let a gentle tightening of his fingers do all the talking for him.

\----------

Stepping back from the bulletin board where the last pin sank into the soft cork, Nishihiro stepped back, observing the gentle lines of string wrapping around pin heads of various colors on a map centered on the breach, framed by reports in more languages than Nishihiro could speak. A hand rose to his mouth, hiding his frown from nobody but himself.

He slowly pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing in a number he’d already memorized. He lifted it to his phone, counted out three rings before there was a click, and, “Didn’t you know you’re supposed to wait three days before calling?”

A soft laugh that sounded dull even to his own ears. “Izumi,” he started, and a sigh that was too heavy to be real tickled his ear before Izumi’s drawl followed behind.

“Another favor? I sure hope you’re picking up the coffee bill next time, sweetheart. How can I help?”

“…Transcripts of the Kaiju attacks,” Nishihiro managed, clenching his eyes shut and crossing his fingers. He heard the hesitation as thick as molasses through the line, and then a sigh that was definitely real this time.

“Ooh, that’s gonna be a tough one,” Izumi said, and Nishihiro felt himself smile.

“But nothing you can’t handle.”

“You just worry about whatever’s going on in that cute little head of yours. I’ll worry about the rest.” With a soft laugh, Izumi hung up the phone, leaving Nishihiro to lower his phone and press the end call button as well. He stared down at it for a second, letting the ghost of his smile fade away before he looked back up to the board before him, anxiety coiling in his stomach like a nefarious snake, miles beneath the ocean of the Pacific ocean.

“A tough one indeed,” he whispered.


	19. draw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think???? this is the longest chapter to date. whoops. that wasn't supposed to happen. uh.
> 
> PLEASE GO CHECK OUT THIS ART AAAAAAAAA [tajimaaaaaaa by loser-meganes](http://loser-meganes.tumblr.com/post/114645036187/the-men-up-on-the-news-they-try-to-tell-us-all) THANK YOU!!
> 
> note the new warning for underaged drinking.
> 
> please enjoy!!! 8)

As soon as Hamada guided him and Mihashi into the armor technician room, Abe felt an almost tangible excitement burgeoning from the tips of his fingers, a slow vibration spreading to every cell in his body in anticipation. A glance to his left had him locking eyes with Mihashi, long enough for him to know that it wasn’t just him, and then a few seconds longer still, not sure if his heart was beating faster or if it had stopped completely.

He wasn’t sure how long he would have stared at Mihashi as they shared their mutual moment that  _this was it, this is a huge step_ , as one of the technicians stepped forward with a tape measure and stole his attention, a second coming forward with a clipboard, her clipped voice instructing him to strip down. Abe began with his shirt and pulled everything off, stopping when she told him to stop at his boxers.

“You’ll take those off for the laser measurements,” she said when he lifted an eyebrow. Unlike the suits they’d borrowed so far, the custom suits were  _completely_  custom, down to the very last inch. “These are just to make sure the machine is calibrated correctly.” Sure that if he never had to hear the word ‘calibrated’ one more time he’d be a happy man, Abe lifted his arms as she poked and prodded around him, measuring each part of his body three times by hand and calling them out to her assistant. Then, she gestured for Abe to enter a small room, and after stepping out of his boxers, he padded onto where there was a small red x on the floor. A flash of a red beam of light traced his body from neck to toe and just about blinded the shit out of him, but with a small beep, it clicked off and he was free to go.

Mihashi entered behind him after Abe pulled his boxers back on and left, wrestling himself back into his pants as the technician from earlier stepped forward while he dressed. “We’ll have the suits constructed and rewired in about an hour, if you’d just like to wait,” she said, and Abe’s hands hesitated where he was tucking his shirt in.

“…What do you mean, ‘rewired’?” he asked. She glanced down at her clipboard.

“These suits are going to be using three-eighths wire instead of half-wire. It’ll take some time to get the networking into place, but you can go hang out in the break room if you’d like.”

Just then, Mihashi stepped out of the laser measuring room, blinking rapidly into the room where he’d too apparently not had enough warning to close his eyes before the light came on. Abe looked back to the technician to ask her what the hell was this ‘wire’ talk, but she’d already turned and gone over to a complex wall of computers. Abe slowly resumed tucking his shirt in again, plucking his dog tags out from beneath the cotton as he turned to see Mihashi sitting on the ground and pulling on his socks.

As soon as Mihashi was dressed, Abe put a hand on his elbow and directed him towards where the technician had pointed for the break room, opening the door to see a small table, a tiny kitchen, and a coffeepot that was half-full. Judging from the lack of smell of coffee lingering in the air, it was old, and he didn’t quite feel like digging around in their cabinets to find the makings for a fresh pot.

“How long does it take?” Mihashi asked, taking a seat on the couch that was pressed against the wall. Abe exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he sat next to the blond, stretching his legs out on the floor in front of them.

“They’ve got this machine that usually takes about half an hour to make a new suit, but apparently they’re rewiring the suits with some kind of special wire, so I don’t know,” Abe answered, picking at a thread that was loose on the couch. He then reclined further into it, letting his head relax against the back of the couch. “It probably has something to do with what Izumi was messing around with yesterday. He said he was going to figure something out.”

Mihashi leaned forward, folding on himself as he peeked over at Abe. “Do you think… what they’re doing will help?”

Abe sighed out as he quirked an eyebrow. “Well, I sure hope so… We’re pretty close now, though,” he said, looking down to meet Mihashi’s gaze. “We can definitely Drift.”

He waited for Mihashi to nod in agreement, but instead, Mihashi sat up a bit more, turning his body just a bit so he could face Abe a little better. “We’re going to get better. We can practice, and do it over and over, as many times as it takes, until we don’t have to worry anymore. Right?”

Abe felt a grin curl onto his lips, because Mihashi’s face was too serious for the giddy feeling it inspired in Abe’s gut, and because somehow Abe felt like his heart had just been cut into nine partitions. He reached over and ran his hand through Mihashi’s hair roughly, delighting in the indignant squawk it earned him in response. “Yeah, you’re right. Tajima and Hanai’ll just have to hold down the fort until we can jump in.”

Mihashi’s three-hundred-mile-an-hour nod followed the statement, and then they fell into a comfortable silence as they waited, the technicians buzzing around noisily in the armor room, the base echoing with a muted anticipation for the next Kaiju attack. Abe stared at the ceiling, wondered if they’d ever win, really, or if maybe one day the Kaiju just didn’t come back. He wondered if they’d ever feel safe again.

Time passed slowly as he waited, bobbing his foot as Mihashi messed around on his phone. At first Abe thought he was texting back and forth, but when he peeked over and saw a cutesy little game shooting chickens into the sky, he bit his smile to keep the startled laugh in. It wasn’t enough, however, because Mihashi blinked over into his face, then looked down at his phone, then back to Abe. Abe waited for the words to come to Mihashi’s mouth, only to laugh again when Mihashi thrust his phone towards him.

“What?”

“You wanna try?” he asked, pushing his phone into Abe’s hand. Abe took it, more because Mihashi let go and he didn’t want to drop the idiot’s phone on the floor than because he was actually wanting to play whatever game this was, but Mihashi seemed to take that as a sign of interest and got a chirpy little smile on his face. “You want to knock down all the blocks using the birds.”

“How do I - oh,” Abe asked, tapping his phone on the screen and watching as his little chicken launched about one pixel off the slingshot.

“You have to hold it down, then aim it,” Mihashi said, crowding in close over Abe’s shoulder so he could watch. Abe adjusted how he was sitting by leaning forward a bit, and Mihashi immediately filled the space, hooking his chin over Abe’s shoulder and staring down at the screen while his fingers twined in the shirt at Abe’s side. Pressing his thumb on the screen, Abe aimed the chicken and let it loose, then watched as he scored a nice two hundred. Or rather, he thought it was nice, until he looked and saw that Mihashi’s high score for this round was four thousand.

“How the hell do you - ?!” Abe asked, cutting off when there was a hiccup of laughter against the side of his neck. “And all this time I thought you were texting Tajima.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes, Tajima-kun texts me when I’m trying to play, and it messes me up,” Mihashi admitted, reaching over and pressing a few buttons on the screen until Abe saw a much easier-looking level on the screen. Mihashi then re-twined his fingers in Abe’s shirt, shuffling even closer. “Try this one.”

Abe managed to get a little over a thousand on that round by his third try, but Mihashi’s score still stood as reigning supreme. With a frustrated noise, he looked over to peer into Mihashi’s face, handing him his phone back. “Okay, I concede defeat. You’re definitely way better at that than I’ll ever be.”

“You could get it with practice,” Mihashi said, taking his phone back and locking the screen. Abe waited for him to scoot back over to his side of the couch, but instead, Mihashi sighed out a breath that trailed the length of Abe’s jaw, leaning in closer yet. Hundreds of words tangled in his throat as he tried to think of something to say to fill the space, but somehow, it already felt full enough. His mouth remained shut, and instead, he closed his eyes, focusing on Mihashi’s chest against his back, the place where their heads were touching, each tickle of blond hair on his ear, the soft cascade as Mihashi tightened and loosened his fingers in a wave on his shirt, brushing his side over and over again in a motion that was so calming it was almost scary.

Just like when they meditated before Drifting, time slipped through Abe’s fingers like silver water, and when the door to the break room opened, he found himself blinking out of a half-doze, leaning against Mihashi as much as the blond had been leaning into him. He stood and stretched a bit as the technician from earlier approached.

“The suits are finished, so if you don’t mind, we’d like you to come on in and try them on so we can make modifications if needed,” she said, and Abe nodded, looking over his shoulder to see Mihashi following him closely, eyes wide and posture ready to go.

They walked back into the armor room, and Abe saw the two electromyograph suits hanging over the arm of one of the technicians. They were black as night, cream accents on the toes and fingers, and thin, barely-visible red vertical lines not too different from a baseball uniform running along the fabric. He reached out when the technician extended one out to him, holding it tenderly in both hands as he tested the fabric. It didn’t feel any different from the fabric of the electromyograph suit he’d worn so far, nor from the one he’d left at Musashino. It stretched beneath his pinching fingers as readily as ever, and when he looked up, he saw Mihashi holding his suit as if a most precious gift had been given to him. Not that that was quite wrong, Abe mused, looking back down at the suit in his hands. A  _normal_  suit was hundreds of thousands of dollars… no telling how much a  _rewired_  suit cost.

He took the suit with him into the locker room, opening his locker and looking at the electromyograph suit already hanging there. He took it out, draping it over one of the benches behind him, then stripped off his clothes - all of them, this time - and pulled his suit on. It was definitely a better fit than the other one, fitting against his calves and thighs like a second skin, cupping his ass and then tucking into the small of his back. He went to slip his hands in, but before he could, there was an inquisitive touch at his shoulder blade.

Mihashi’s face was tilted up enough for their eyes to meet when he looked over his shoulder, and it took Abe but a single blink of eyes before he realized what Mihashi was asking for. He reached into his locker and grabbed his phone, swiping his thumb around to set their five-and-a-half minute alarm, when Mihashi’s voice startled him in the silence of the locker room. “A-Abe-kun, I was thinking…” He hesitated for a hiccup when Abe’s eyes moved from his phone screen to lock with hazel, but after pressing his lips together for a second, he moved past whatever mental block had built in his mind. “I think we should change our tether.”

“Okay,” Abe agreed, turning slightly as his suit hung around his hips so he could look at his copilot better. “What were you thinking?”

“Well, um, the last time, we did really well with Drifting, and I think… I think it was partly because of our tether,” Mihashi said. “But I think… instead of just baseball, I think we should do pitching. Uh,  _our_  pitching, that is, you and me.”

Abe let the thought roll over his brain like wine on his tongue. An activity they both had strong emotional connection to, and had done together to strengthen their bond already. An activity that was specific enough to tether them together, but general enough so as not to fall into the danger of a R.A.B.I.T. He felt himself nod. “Yeah, sounds good. Let’s try it.”

Mihashi brightened, then held up his hand, fingers wiggling slightly. Abe let his hand press against Mihashi’s, palm to palm and fingers automatically threading together, their grip as secure as could be. Then, with the push of a button, Abe closed his eyes and fell into the relaxation. He focused on the feel of the suit hanging off his skin, the black contrasting Mihashi’s pale skin like night and day, making the small golden trail beneath where Abe had never really let himself look stand out more than usual, and Abe felt his breath hitch in perfect time to a slight squeeze of Mihashi’s hand around his own, and with a bump of Mihashi’s forehead against his own in perfect time to the beginning of the alarm, Abe pulled himself out, staring at Mihashi’s nose because somehow it felt like too much to meet his eyes.

He released Mihashi’s hand to pull the blond’s arms into his suit, letting Mihashi wriggle out the fingers while he pulled his own up, sliding his arms into the perfect fit and zipping it up. He rolled his neck and took a few steps around to let the fabric settle into place, then looked to where Mihashi was standing in the middle of the locker room, hip cocked out to the side as his fingers pulled at his covered wrists with a focused expression. Then, golden eyes rose to meet his own, and Mihashi stood straight, then walked over to stand at first in front of him, nod, and move on past with a silent command to follow hanging in the air.

The technicians swarmed around them as soon as they entered the room, plucking at their suits and checking to make sure everything fit just perfectly. Before long, they were apparently deemed a pass, because then the armor came next - the same red as the thin lines on the suit, Nishiura red, settling into place and secured until they were armored head to toe. Their helmets came last, black and sleek, and when Abe pulled it over his head, he wondered at how light it felt on him. The relay gel filled and then suctioned out, and with one last clasp at his back of the spinal clamp, Abe stepped forward into black boots. He looked over to Mihashi, who was wiggling around as he adjusted to the feel of the custom electromyograph suit, and he looked good, Abe thought, eyes trailing the pilot head to toe. He looked like he belonged in that suit, in those colors.

With a short glance between them, they walked to the Simulator, which opened for them as it had done every single time before. Abe stepped to the left of the rig, boots clicking into place and the secure metal screwing into place. Lights of all the systems flashed around him, and then Hamada’s voice came over the intercom.

“Hey, you two! How are the suits feeling?” he asked, and Abe reached up, pressing the button to open the communication line.

“Expensive as hell,” he answered, and Hamada’s laughter came back.

“Well, yeah,” Hamada said. “But if it gets you two in a Jaeger, it’s worth it. All right, let’s get you started.” The line closed, and Abe looked over to Mihashi, who flashed Abe a small smile that felt like a tiny bird in his hand, fragile but filled with a future of flight.  Abe nodded, then relaxed into the rig, listening to the feminine recording count down to their Drift, letting the numbers slip out of his mind as he instead focused on the burn in his thighs when he was crouched across from Mihashi, slipping a hand between his legs to call for a fastball straight down the middle, every inch of Mihashi’s windup form, the lift of his leg and the deceptive path of the ball, and how he knew that he could keep his waiting glove exactly where it was for the crisp sound of hope hitting leather.

In perfect time to the sound in his head was the hiccup of the void before their Drift, lasting only long enough for him to know it was there, but then, it was completely different than it had ever been before. It was like the last time, his mind and Mihashi’s touching without anything between them, but it was as clear as if he’d fused together, Mihashi’s thoughts ( -  _checking the feel of the thread before nodding to confirm the sign because I’ll never tell Abe-kun no and pitching and watching the ball sink into Abe-kun’s glove like it belongs there, because it does, it does belong there, Abe-kun will always catch for me because he’s so nice and makes me feel important and -_ ) almost indistinguishable from his own, almost, because there was a shimmer of gold in Mihashi’s thoughts, a shiny foil he’d never noticed before, like seeing the leaves in a tree when before it had only been branches. He let every thought wash over his mind like waves of an ocean holding the first sunrise of his life, and in a blink, his eyes opened to see the inside of the Simulator, and there was the odd sensation that nothing had really changed, and yet everything had.

“How are you holding up?” Hamada’s voice asked, and Abe knew before he saw it that Mihashi was going to lift his arm with no trouble at all, not even a thought, as if they’d never had trouble before. His eyes watched as Mihashi did just that, clicking the button.

“We’re fine, Hama-chan,” Mihashi answered, and Abe heard the words in his ears but he also heard them in his head, got a bizarre feedback loop ( -  _living in Gishigishi and getting my first baseball glove because Hama-chan is my precious friend who doesn’t want me to move away -_ ) and blinked it away. Not a memory. A thought, a subconscious thought, something he wondered if Mihashi himself had thought or ( -  _no not until Abe-kun thought it, or I thought it and Abe-kun thought it so I could think it, or -_ ) oh, okay, Abe thought, limbs suspended in a honey world that was part his and part Mihashi’s.

“Okay, I’m going to run the Simulator, then. Let’s cross our fingers!”

Abe watched the screen in front of him with a twist in his gut, eyes wide on the few seconds of a countdown. This was it, the last place between him and Mihashi getting into a Jaeger, into Big Windup. He felt the prodding intrusion on their bond in his mind, like a gentle press on his skin. There was a natural reaction to flinch away, but he resisted the urge, focused instead on the feeling of Mihashi’s mind interlocked with his own like their fingers when they were meditating. He let the Pons System sink in, and it pressed and wrapped around, hovering around his brain like a net until finally there was a click, an extra weight on his mind that stretched to every muscle fiber in his body, and he was suddenly standing in a Jaeger on the edge of a ruined city. In front of them was a Kaiju, Category II according to the display on the side screen, claws the size of a baseball dugout looking desperate to sink into his flesh.

The Simulator was  _working_ , he thought, breath stolen out of his lungs as he absorbed the feeling of standing with Mihashi in a Drift, their minds not only melded with one another, but with Big Windup. The machinery wasn’t there, not yet, but the Pons System was the same, this feeling was the same, the way his left arm moved in perfect sync with Mihashi’s, and he knew without even having to see it that Big Windup’s arm moved as well. And yet, it was different, different from 144 Sprinter, the delay in his movements almost non-existent. He moved his right arm with Mihashi’s, Big Windup following their movements perfectly. They’d done it. They’d finally,  _finally_  done it.

The cinnamon delight burned bright as a star in his veins, but they weren’t here for him to get high off the feeling of Drifting with Mihashi. He looked to the blond, who glanced at him with a twitch of nervousness at the corner of his mouth. “It’s okay, Mihashi. We’ll work together and take it down.”

Mihashi nodded, looking back to the front and taking in a breath to calm himself. He squared his shoulder, and Abe felt the moment when he cleared his brain ( -  _just like before a game, just like this is another batter for me to strike out, only this time Abe-kun is with me so I know I’m going to win -_ ) and he mirrored the action, because the Simulation was finally pieced together from the Pons system, all of the data loaded. The sunny afternoon, the beautiful summer day, ( -  _this is so weird that I can feel the weather outside is this normal I didn’t know it was like this -_ ) and no 144 Sprinter hadn’t been like this either, but 144 Sprinter was a Mark III, and Big Windup was a Mark IV, and maybe it was part of some kind of upgrade to the Pons System, or -

Before the thought could get any further than that in Abe’s head, the Kaiju A.I. in the Simulator leapt forward.

Abe raised his arms and caught the clawed hand of the Kaiju, then shoved it back. Mihashi’s brain flashed with his own - Abe’s side was the close combat side. Arms raised, Abe brought his left arm forward in a punch, catching the Kaiju on the side of its jaw. The carbon titanium claws caught the Kaiju’s flesh, slicing on its pass, and the enraged alien howl in the cityscape froze his blood.  _He knew that sound_.  _He knew this Kaiju._ His shock matched with Mihashi’s confusion and some kind of answering recognition, causing them to hesitate for one second. One second too long.

The Kaiju - Juggernaut, Abe remembered, flashes of news casts spinning through his mind and every announcer in the city saying its name over and over, the name burned into his skin as surely as the lines down his side - slashed forward, claws sinking into the metal at their gut. Abe saw the movement, dodged, knowing that in a Jaeger they’d feel a bit of the pain, but when it connected, lightning agony sliced with each inch in perfect harmony to Mihashi’s scream. It paralyzed him and cut through the billowing nausea, hearing that noise out of Mihashi’s mouth, his teeth gritting as he clutched his middle and, “ _Mihashi_!” clawing out of his throat as rage rose faster than the bile. God but the pain was unreal, had it ever been like this (-  _said it didn’t hurt he said it didn’t hurt it hurts it hurts it hurts -_ ), had he  _ever_  felt pain like this?

Desperately, Abe raised his left arm, engaging the titanium claw framing his wrist to catch Juggernaut on the shoulder, aiming to sever whatever muscles there he could before Mihashi got hit like that again. He needed to get those claws out of commission before they suffered another hit - he wasn’t sure they could  _take_  another hit. The claw sank in deep, and Abe heard another cry, that same vicious cry that had plagued his nightmares for  _years_ , claws reaching up to scrape along their Jaeger’s arm and wrecking Abe’s arm in return. Pain splintered up his arm, and he felt the chalkboard nails ripping out of his throat.

“Abe-kun!” Mihashi grunted, and ( -  _cannon use the cannon use the - !!! -_ ) their right arm lifted in a perfect arc, and with one, two, three shots, the Kaiju fell to the wrecked road. Abe stared down at the familiar shape, breath heaving out of his chest like he’d run twenty kilometers and body  _aching_. The Kaiju was still, however, and with a ripple, the screen in front of them shimmered away, leaving just the holographic Simulator wall in front of them, as familiar as ever.

The web from the Simulator peeled away from his brain, and then slowly the golden foil of Mihashi’s disappeared as well, leaving him feeling oddly alone in his skull. Alone, but glad for it, almost, because it meant Mihashi couldn’t feel the way his knees felt week, the way he was hoping the rig would be a little slow to release in case he couldn’t stand on his own just yet. He exhaled and felt his legs get stronger beneath him, and then his thoughts turned to the desperation to get the hell away from the lingering effects of the Drift, the phantom memory of fear sharp on his tongue, the still-lingering shock that of  _all_ the Kaiju in the universe for the Simulator to have picked, it would have been  _that_  one.

“Holy  _shit!_ ” Hamada’s voice screeched through the connection, “Get out here  _pronto_.”

Abe definitely didn’t need to be told twice, reaching up and taking the helmet off his head as soon as he could. His hair was plastered to his head, and when the rig unscrewed and freed him, he wobbled a step away, not sure if Mihashi caught him in the middle or if he caught the blond. He blinked into eyes that were torn between terror and delight, fingers as tight on his bicep as the clamp securing him to the rig had been.

“We did it,” Mihashi whispered, his voice but breath over Abe’s mouth, and Abe nodded, letting his forehead press hard against Mihashi’s as he closed his eyes and centered himself on the solid warmth of Mihashi against him. “We did it, Abe-kun. We did it.”

Abe nodded, because it was all he could do, his mouth not working right to form any words, especially not the ones that plagued his mind, the mix of  _Mihashi will never make that sound again_  and  _we bagged a kill on our first Drop holy shit_  and  _this is it we really did it we really did it we’re one step closer to being pilots_. He let his lungs fill with air that came warmed between them, air that tasted of their first successful kill, held in his lungs because he never wanted to let this breath go. He waited until his chest burned with it, then exhaled at last, straightening and letting his arm, heavy on Mihashi’s shoulder, fall back to his side, but not without ruffling Mihashi’s hair once, just to get that squawk.

They entered the Simulator room, and the nine operators there burst into cheers as soon as they cleared the doors, Hamada leading the way with hands clapping together so hard Abe wondered if he’d be able to type at all for the rest of the day. Izumi was standing next to him, grinning widely and looking so delighted, Abe hardly recognized him.

“Okay, so, not  _only_  did you Drift seamlessly, enter the Simulator, and take down a Category II Kaiju in  _record time_ , you did it with a  _one hundred percent Drift rate_ ,” Hamada said, hands wildly gesturing in front of them. “Also, Kaiju Blue containment was well within ten percent, which, holy shit, you two. Holy  _shit.”_

Abe felt a tightening around his chest, expecting utter delight to shimmer from his pores, but with the numbers came something else, a memory, and a thought. The memory he bit back, a memory of cowering in the shadows with a hand clasped over his hand and eyes all-too wide on the belly of a Kaiju hovering above him. The thought, the  _something was wrong with our Drift_  came tumbling out of Mihashi’s mouth before it could come out of his own. “It hurt,” the blond spluttered, clutching his helmet tightly between his hands as he looked to Abe with furrowed brows. “Abe-kun said it didn’t hurt, before, but…”

“I said  _Drifting_  didn’t hurt,” Abe qualified, but then he looked to Hamada, “but something’s definitely off about the Simulator. It was to the point that we could even feel the  _breeze._ I know the Pons System comes with some tactile synchronization, but that was - ”

“That’s how it is,” Izumi said, stepping forward, arms crossed. “Those suits you two are wearing get you Drifting closer than any technology we’ve got. They’re the only two in the world like it, and for good reason. It’s… you’re going to really feel it when you get hit.” Izumi sighed softly, a hand lifting to push through his hair at his bangs. “I did my best to balance what I thought you’d need with the pain I figured you’d have, but that was as good as I could get it. I even had Nishihiro make some kind of crazy formula that took up like. Half his chalkboard to figure it out.”

“That’s insane,” Abe said, tucking the helmet under his arm. “If we get hit like that in battle, it’s one thing, but that was barely a scratch, and - ” Abe clenched his jaw shut, Mihashi’s scream still echoing between his ears as if he was hearing it now.  _Never_  again. “There’s  _gotta_  be something we can do.”

Hamada looked to Izumi, who huffed out. “Don’t get hit?”

“Try again,” Abe said.

Izumi let his hand drop out of his hair and settle on his hip. “Well, there are… there are suppression pills we can try, but that’ll take away the edge the suits give you, and they’re… well. We’ve had problems with pilots in the past on them. Addiction is a nasty, nasty beast, and it takes more than a Jaeger to beat it,” he said bluntly. “Of course, it might be part of the Simulator overcompensating with the wiring. I’ll see if I can adjust it down, but that means that if it  _isn’t_  just the Simulator and you get out there in a battle, your ass’ll get handed to you for not being ready. And, uh, you’d really rather that happen in here.”

Abe hissed out a slow breath, looking over to Mihashi whose shoulders were all but touching the bottoms of his ears. He felt his teeth grind together, then his eyes clenched shut for a brief second before he looked back to Izumi. “Keep it where it is. Better here than out there. We’ll get the data on our first drop, and you can adjust it then.”

“All right. Oh, and one more thing,” Izumi said, fingers tapping on his hips rhythmically. “Those suits don’t do as good of a job blocking the neutral load as the others, so you’re only allowed one Drift per day. Oki’s orders.”

“What do we do if a Kaiju comes?!” Abe snapped, and Izumi shrugged with one shoulder.

“Stay put or go out and fry your brain and waste all of my hard work. Your call.” Abe felt his fingers clench into a fist because God  _damn it_ that wasn’t an answer, but a soft weight on his forearm in the form of Mihashi’s hand brought both his attention and a release of tension in the form of a sharp exhale.  “In any case, good work. Your first drop, your first kill. It’s about time, you two. Keep up that perfect record.”

Abe nodded, but the delight he knew he should be feeling was not finding him, hanging somewhere between Mihashi’s scream and the Kaiju’s in his brain. He swallowed the bitter taste on his mouth, then looked to Mihashi for a brief second before walking towards the locker room to get changed out. Mihashi followed, boots clacking on the floor behind him, and then beside him, following in silence until they entered the technician chamber and had all the red armor removed, then to the locker room, where Abe stripped off the electromyograph suit. He glanced down at his skin, turning his left arm over as he studied it where Juggernaut had clawed his arm to hell and back, half-expecting new scars to have bloomed onto his skin, but he was unmarred.

Abe dressed robotically, then hung his electromyograph suit carefully, letting his hand run over the fabric gently before he shut the door and glanced at his name, unmarried to a team logo but still with a custom suit inside. A suit that allowed him to Drift, to  _fight_ , but a suit that made it almost impossible to do it unless he was perfect. Unless  _they_  were perfect. He closed his eyes, but when he heard Mihashi’s scream in the darkness of his mind, he opened them again, searing the light of the locker room onto his brain and hoping to burn that memory away.

He turned around and saw Mihashi waiting for him, eyes wide on his back and chin dipped shyly. Abe crossed the room and headed for the door, Mihashi tight on his heels all the way to the elevator doors. Mihashi pressed the button and they waited in silence, the same silence that had followed them to the technician room, and stepped on once the doors slid open. Abe stared at his reflection in the silver of the door, a sudden thought crossing his mind that he still hadn’t texted Haruna back. Haruna, with whom he’d Drifted without that insane level of pain, Haruna whose mind wasn’t that golden filigree on the inside of his skull, Haruna who waited until Abe had all but given up hope to suddenly text him like it was just another day - Haruna, whom Abe wondered if he’d ever leave his brain, really.

But then, before his mind could dip any further into a dark hole, Abe felt a light pressure on his hand, and warmth that was so familiar by this point, he curled his fingers into it before he’d even consciously recognized that Mihashi had reached out.  He looked over to Mihashi, who squeezed a bit before a smile pulled onto his lips. “I, I know it doesn’t really count, and that it’s just a Simulation, but that… that was our first kill!” he said, and Abe felt a tension release in his shoulders and face he hadn’t even known he was holding, watching as it slipped out in perfect time to a blossom of a smile on Mihashi’s face. Mihashi gave him one last squeeze before letting his arm drift back to his side, and just like that, the memory of the Kaiju from their Drift disappeared, and all that remained in its place was the thrill of their first drop together. A  _record-breaking_  drop, at that, he recalled, pride swelling up in his chest. They really did make an insanely good pair, just as he’d suspected the moment he’d found Mihashi on the outer porch of the base, throwing a baseball to a wall because Abe hadn’t found him yet.

The elevator doors opened and Abe stepped out, letting Mihashi come forward to unlock their door. Abe sat down heavily on their couch after he kicked off his shoes by the door, Mihashi tucking his legs beneath himself next to him, staring at their television screen as Abe clicked it on and blew through to try and find the news. Well, maybe not the news, he thought, because it was still only so long since the last Kaiju attack, and they might still be playing Haruna’s interview, and he  _really_ didn’t want to see that, and -

“Oh!” Mihashi gasped, and Abe stopped the mindless flipping, catching the middle of a baseball game between the Lions and the Hawks. The Hawks were up by one run, the Lions with two. On the mound, a nonchalant blond was studying the signs of his pitcher, shaking his head once before nodding. He wound up, then pitched, and the batter missed by a mile, racking up a second strike. Abe looked over to Mihashi, whose eyes were as wide as saucers on the screen, fingers clutched tightly on his shins as he pulled his knees up to his chest to watch the game. Abe felt a soft smile pull onto his face, so he put the remote down and settled into the couch, losing himself in the game, studying the pitch call for the pitcher that was absolutely decimating the other team.

A few innings passed and the Hawks scored a fourth run in the eighth inning, the blond finally switching out for a closing pitcher. Abe then felt a weight on his left hand, and he looked over to see Mihashi staring down at where they were touching, gaze burning a hole in the top of his hand before he turned Abe’s hand over and threaded their fingers together.

“I saw… in the Drift…” Mihashi started, voice careful, and Abe closed his eyes. He hadn’t thought about it, not consciously, but something weird had happened in their Drift, and Mihashi had probably seen it anyway. Just like he’d seen that fragment of Mihashi’s past with Hamada. “You’ve… You quit baseball. Because of it.”

“Maybe,” Abe said, closing his eyes and letting his mind focus on the warmth coming from Mihashi’s hand next to his thigh. “I didn’t really think about it that way, but… I guess, sort of.”

“What happened?” Mihashi asked, and Abe opened his eyes again to stare at the ceiling that he had memorized so well during his week doing absolutely nothing but stare at it while he tried to think of where to begin. How much to tell. How much he needed to tell, how much would come across in a Drift because it was so much of how fucked up he was now.

“Haruna and I played on the same team in middle school,” Abe said, because that was where it felt like it had begun, really. “He was an ass. He was the worst kind of pitcher, and I hated him. But…” Abe clenched his eyes shut, remembering the slow burn of realization that had happened over those first months, the slow realization that there was  _something_  about Haruna Motoki that got under his skin, something that had his veins on fire for the first time in his life and making him feel things he hadn’t understood at the time. Things he still didn’t understand, not really. “It was… complicated. Anyway, he graduated, and when I’d heard he’d gone into P.P.D.C., I went to Musashino for high school to play baseball.”

“It was… a good baseball school?” Mihashi asked, and Abe shrugged lightly.

“Not great, but not bad.” Abe looked over to Mihashi, a ghost of a smile on his face. “There used to be a Nishiura High School, you know. Not too far from here. I was going to go there, but…” He clenched his hand tightly around Mihashi’s, and again, that screech, Juggernaut’s, echoed in his skull. “I went to visit Nishiura, see what the grounds were like. I was taking a bit of a risk, but it was close, and it really couldn’t be much worse than Musashino, really. But when I went… that day… there was a Kaiju attack.”

“The same one as in the Simulator,” Mihashi said, and Abe nodded, still remembering the sight of a Kaiju footprint on the baseball diamond as the Kaiju passed over his head, cowering in the baseball dugout and too scared to breathe for the terror that if the monster heard him, he’d be dead.

“Nishiura was destroyed in the attack, so I went to Musashino instead. There wasn’t a pitcher worth a shit, and we lost in the first round. I felt so… It felt pointless, all of it. I didn’t know what to do, until I biked past Nishiura one day, and remembered the footprint on the baseball field. That was when I decided to be a Jaeger Pilot. And well, the rest you know.”

Mihashi’s hand squeezed Abe’s tightly. “My… My mother went to Nishiura!” He said, eyes wide and blinking into Abe’s surprised face. “I… would have gone, but it was…”

“…Are you serious?!” Abe asked, and Mihashi nodded, leaving the two of them in silence before Abe fell back into the couch, staring in shock at the wall. He and Mihashi could have met years ago, at a no-name public school in Saitama. Mihashi could have been his pitcher, and he could have been Mihashi’s catcher, could have filled that void so deep in Mihashi’s head with himself until the blond couldn’t remember what it felt like to be alone anymore. His eyes burned at the thought, at the thought of a world where they could have… maybe not been happy, not with all of the baggage they had from before, but… a world where things could have been different. A world where maybe Abe’s stomach didn’t clench in anxiety every time he tried to watch a baseball game. A world where Mihashi’s prowess on the mound would have been  _known_. …Maybe it  _would_  have been happy.

“I… I knew that Kaiju too,” Mihashi suddenly admitted, looking down at his toes. “It… It was the one that… My grandpa and cousin…”

“Oh,” Abe said, and not really sure why he was doing it but absolutely positively sure that it was what he wanted to do, he pulled Mihashi into his side, buried his face in Mihashi’s hair and felt the blond melt into the embrace, hands reaching over to clutch in Abe’s shirt even as Abe wrapped his arm around Mihashi’s shoulder and tightened. Here, Mihashi felt small, like something Abe wanted to protect, and his stomach curled in a way that had him breathless, compounded when Mihashi’s fingers wound into his shirt and his toes wriggled to press beneath his thigh, a smile curling at his collar bone.

“We’re going to be the best pilots in the world,” Mihashi suddenly said, voice as soft as the hair beneath Abe’s mouth. “So… so no one else has to…”

“Yeah,” Abe agreed, nuzzling Mihashi fondly, closing his eyes and taking every second of the odd embrace and savoring it, feeling the clenching in his chest like his heart wasn’t sure if it wanted to speed up or relax. Before it could decide, there was a heavy knocking at their door, and Abe looked over their couch to the metal, blinking down at Mihashi who blinked up at him in equal confusion.

Abe stood and walked over to the door, opening it just as Tajima all but kicked it down with two huge cases of beer, Hanai behind him with arms filled with four pizza boxes, Izumi, Suyama, Sakaeguchi, and Mizutani behind them. “Wha - ?!”

“First Drop Party!” Tajima exclaimed, kicking off his shoes and opening their fridge. “Whoa, you two actually have food in here? Where do you put the beer?”

“We’re - !” Mihashi started, peering over the edge of the couch, and Tajima grinned, pulling stuff out and shoving in a few cans of beer.

“We are too, but, y’know. If you’re old enough to die you’re old enough to drink, right?” he asked, only to squeak out in pain when Izumi reached over and gripped his hair in a painful hold.

“How about you wait for us to shut the door before you flap your lips about breaking the law, huh?” he said, and Tajima wiggled his eyebrows at him, causing him to scowl. “Go ahead and hand me one. I don’t care if they’re cold.” Tajima tossed him up a can, stuffing Abe and Mihashi’s fridge to the brim with as much beer as it could hold before grabbing two, one for him and the other for Mihashi. “Okay, Mihashi and Abe get first dibs on pizza and have to chug their first beer. It’s the rule after your first drop!”

“R-Rule?” Mihashi repeated, blinking up at Abe, who sighed when Tajima pressed a can of beer into his hand as well.

“Mihashi, eat something first,” Abe groaned, grinding the heel of his palm into his forehead. He looked to Hanai, desperate for some other semblance of maturity in this group, but he was already taking a seat at their table next to Mizutani, legs stretched out as he popped open a can himself.

Mihashi grabbed a piece of pizza and chomped down, Abe following, and then everyone else swarmed in, the first pizza disappearing in less than a minute. Abe then glanced down at his lukewarm can of beer and popped it open, causing Mihashi to do the same. He then lifted it in a toast, tapping it on the side of Mihashi’s with a smile he couldn’t really suppress on his face.

“Bottom’s up,” he said, and Mihashi got as serious a look on his face as Abe had ever seen as he lifted the can to his mouth, chugging it down. Abe followed suit, letting the sour hops slide down his throat in large gulps until he tipped his head back and got down to the last drop. With a huge inhale, he opened his mouth and belched, drawing applause from his fellows.

“That was disgusting,” Izumi complimented, and Mihashi hiccuped lightly, crushing his can before turning to Tajima to release an airy giggle. “All right, I’ll get us set up. Mihashi, go grab us a cup and bring it over here.”

“Cup?” Abe asked, watching as Mihashi scrambled over to go procure said cup and press it into Izumi’s hand.

“Yes, cup. Now come on and let’s go sit down somewhere close to the toilet.”

Hanai and Mizutani pulled the table to the side, and Abe watched as Izumi put a circle down on the floor before pulling a pack of cards out of his pocket. He shuffled them a few times, then spread them in a circle around the cup, face down. Gesturing for Tajima to bring the pizza over where they were sitting, Izumi sat down and was soon joined by Suyama and Sakaeguchi, the latter of whom looked up at Abe with a cheerful smile.

“Come on, it’s fun!” Sakaeguchi said, patting the floor next to him. Abe sat down with a sigh, reaching over to Mihashi to tug the blond down to sit down next to him. Mihashi crowded into his personal space, leaning over to whisper loudly to Sakaeguchi something nigh incomprehensible, but apparently the ginger understood enough to laugh charmingly. “Yeah, that’s right. It’s basically the same game, but we’ll go over the rules just in case. I always forget what a few of the cards stand for myself, since we don’t get together too often to play it.”

In the next minute, Abe was informed that this was apparently a drinking game called ‘circle of death’, the objective was either to get drunk as fuck or to be the last one  _not_  drunk as fuck by the time all the cards are drawn, depending on whether it was Suyama’s explanation or Tajima’s he believed, and a promise that when he drew a card, someone would tell him what to do. He looked over to Mihashi, who was chatting with Tajima about something, and looked briefly to the ceiling, hoping that he’d manage to survive this night.

Hanai went first, picking a six. Everyone groaned, and Sakaeguchi threw back a gulp of beer, then leaned over and, “Take a drink, Abe. Everyone has to drink on that one.”

“Oh, right,” Abe said, taking a gulp. Tajima was next, and he drew an eight.

“All right! Hanai’s my date!” he said, leaning over and bumping his shoulder into his copilot’s. Later in the night, Hanai could have written the red on his face as intoxication, but Abe felt his eyebrow lift, only for his gaze to fall to where Mihashi was leaning forward over the cards. He drew a two, then looked at Abe.

“A-Abe-kun, you drink!” he said, pressing his lips together happily, and Abe took a swig of beer, then glanced down at the ring of cards in front of him. Careful not to break the ring so he didn’t have to chug his still-relatively-full can, he drew a card, eyeing the ace with narrowed eyes. “Ooh, make a good rule. Abe-kun!”

“Anyone who pukes on my floor has to clean it,” Abe said, causing Izumi to snort and Mizutani to make a sound of protest.

“No way, that doesn’t count. You have to do something like, ‘every time you look at the person to your right you have to drink’ or something,” Mizutani said, and Abe looked to where Mihashi sat on his right and very quickly decided that would  _not_  be the rule he used.

“If you puke on my floor, you can’t drink anymore until you clean it up,” Abe revised, and with a sigh and a pat on his knee, Sakaeguchi leaned in to grab a card.

“We’ll say that one passes,” he said, turning over his card to show a four. Everyone except Abe and Mihashi slapped their hands on the floor, and then, eyes wide, Mihashi slapped the floor, looking to Abe with a devious expression, who then looked to Sakaeguchi who was grinning at him. “Last to slap has to drink, Abe!”

“This is bullshit,” Abe groaned, gulping down.

Abe’s second can disappeared, and despite the fact that it felt like he had about half a pizza in his gut, his third beer had him feeling a bit tipsy, his face warm and his actions much looser. It didn’t help when he was the one to break the circle when Mihashi bumped into him to get away from Tajima’s tickling fingers, and despite his protests that it wasn’t his fault, he ended up having to chug beer three down and crack open number four. By the time he got to the bottom and reached out for beer five, Mihashi drew an eight and leaned heavily into his side, giggling as he whispered that Abe was his date. That had the room feeling even warmer than it already was, and he found himself staring at Mihashi’s mouth, not quite sure how much of that he could blame on him looking to see that when Mihashi drank he drank too, and how much was that odd feeling in his gut that probably wasn’t beer.

Mizutani got the last king and ended up having to finish all the beers on the table, and that threw Abe off his beer count, not sure if his next beer was six, or if it was seven, or what, only sure that he was definitely laughing at something Mihashi had said and hiding his face in that blond hair so no one else would notice.

Down to the last card, Suyama picked it up and flipped it over, revealing a jack for their fourth waterfall. Suyama started chugging, and then around the circle they started, Abe starting as soon as Mihashi did, eye watching the blond to see when he stopped so he could stop as well. Finally, Suyama stopped, then Izumi, and Hanai reached out to swat Mizutani when he kept going, causing the mechanic to stop drinking to laugh and cough. Hanai finally stopped, then Tajima, and finally Mihashi’s eyes looked to Abe, glazed and drunk but definitely teasing as he kept drinking, and drinking, until finally he tilted his head back and finished the whole can. Abe lowered his can as soon as Mihashi did, exhaling with relief, then reaching over and pinching Mihashi’s nose.

“You did that on purpose,” he accused, and Mihashi giggled, hand reaching up to cover his nose in protest.

“I didn’t want you to stop looking at me,” Mihashi said, voice slurring pretty heavily, and Abe swallowed, hand reaching over to twine their fingers together sloppily.

“I won’t,” he said, eyes going from their hands back up to Mihashi’s eyes, and Mihashi beamed, swaying forward until his cheek was pressed heavily against Abe’s shoulder. Abe leaned into it, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Mihashi’s head as he let his face enjoy the soft strands that tickled his nose. Abe opened his eyes and saw Tajima lean up to whisper something in Hanai’s ear, who then flushed cherry red - though he was already flushed from the alcohol, and had Abe not seen it, he would have missed it.

“Well, we’re going to go. Early morning, and all that,” Hanai proclaimed, standing up, wobbly on his feet, Tajima following close behind. They slipped out the door with the goodbyes bidding them off, until Sakaeguchi looked over and hummed.

“Oh, that’s Hanai’s phone,” he said, pushing off Suyama’s shoulder and grabbing it off the table. Abe watched as he opened the door to go walk down the hall to Tajima and Hanai’s room to drop it off, only to yelp as soon as he turned that way. “Good lord - Get inside before you - !” Abe felt a grin curl his lips when he heard Hanai cursing loudly under Tajima’s barking laughter, a slamming door following as Sakaeguchi reentered the room and shut the door behind him, leaning heavily against it as he raised his hands to his red-hot face. “I’m never going to unsee that. Oh my God.”

“So, I guess that makes it official,” Izumi said with a slow grin, looking over to Abe. “Hey, Abe, is it okay if I crash on your couch? There’s no way I’d make it all the way to the Shatterdome without passing out in a hallway.”

“Oh, yeah, me too,” Mizutani agreed, followed by Sakaeguchi. Mihashi nodded, and Abe scowled when that dislodged his face from where he’d been resting it on the top of Mihashi’s head.

“You two take the couch, and Suyama and Sakaeguchi can take the top bunk,” Abe said, pulling out of Mihashi’s hair long enough to talk. “Mihashi, you can sleep with me. I don’t want you to roll out of your bunk and hurt yourself.”

“Oh, wow, okay,” Sakaeguchi teased, looking over to where Suyama was doing his best to tidy up some of the beer cans. “You hear that, Shouji?”

“Heh, yeah, I heard it,” Suyama hummed, and Abe decided he didn’t quite like the smile on his face. He looked instead to where Izumi and Mizutani were clinging to each other to get to the couch, snorting in laughter each time they tripped, collapsing in a heap with feet dangling over the edge. Abe then looked down at Mihashi, who was blinking up into his face with heavy eyelids.

“You ready for bed?” he asked, and Mihashi nodded, snuggling his head beneath Abe’s head. “All right. Come on, let’s get up.”

“Mmm, you get up,” Mihashi protested, nuzzling in closer, and Abe rolled his eyes despite the fact that he didn’t quite feel the irritation he was showing. He stood and pulled Mihashi up with him, only for a twinge of vertigo to hit him and have him sway back. “Whoa - !”

Abe reached his arm up behind him to catch the wall, his other arm clutching Mihashi to him as they fell back heavily on the wall. Mihashi’s fingers curled tightly in Abe’s shirt, bodies pressed from knee to neck, and suddenly Abe felt an intense wave of heat that had him hissing in a breath, his fingers tightening on Mihashi’s shirt in the small of his back. Mihashi reached over to click off the light, then pushed off of him, breathing out carefully, his fingers pulling as golden eyes barely visible in the light of the alarm clock stared up at him, pulling Abe, who couldn’t look away from Mihashi’s eyes (he’d promised, hadn’t he, that he would wouldn’t stop looking), not until Mihashi’s knees were backed against his bed.

“Lie down,” Abe heard himself say in a voice that didn’t sound like his own, too low for his voice, and Mihashi obeyed as if he was bewitched. Abe followed, tucking himself close, closing his eyes as their bodies mingled beneath the sheet, smelling the beer on Mihashi’s breath where it washed over his face. He felt the groan at the thought rise in his throat, turned his face into his pillow as he felt the heat blossom beneath his skin, only for it to concentrate where Mihashi’s fingers traced small lines on his side where his shirt had hiked up, Mihashi’s nose coming forward to rub against the skin just beneath Abe’s ear. Abe felt the hitch in his breath at the touch, felt his fingers clutch desperately in Mihashi’s clothes, felt the way he pulled mindlessly because he wasn’t sure what Mihashi was doing but god did he want him to do it.

But then Mihashi stilled gently, hand warm on Abe’s naked back beneath his shirt and face pressed in the softness of Abe’s throat, and Abe blinked into his pillow at the realization that Mihashi had just been cuddling close to sleep. He turned his face a bit, then slowly readjusted the both of them until Mihashi was curled beneath his jaw, and he clutched the blond, feeling somehow desperate for his touch, and with a soft exhale, he closed his eyes as well. Just before he followed him into slumber, he heard his phone chime, but he was too drunk and too tired to want to mess with a message right now, both compounded by the fact that Mihashi had curled up on him and it would about take a Kaiju for Abe to want to move him. Whoever it was could wait, he decided, sneaking a spontaneous kiss to Mihashi’s temple he hadn’t known he’d wanted until he’d taken it, and delighting in the thrill that Suyama and Sakaeguchi’s wet kisses above him were not the only affectionate gesture happening in his room.

\----------

Abe woke the next morning feeling sore all over, mouth dry as cotton and tasting foul. He made to move, but Mihashi was all but dead on him, one arm curled beneath Abe’s shirt and clutching his side while the other had somehow tucked beneath Abe’s so their hands were pressed together. Abe blinked at the bottom of the bunk above him, and then he closed his eyes as he sighed heavily.

It was an adventure and a half, extracting himself from Mihashi’s hold, but he managed it, and went to the bathroom to piss and brush his teeth. He washed his face, opting out of a shower for now in case someone else woke and needed to go to the bathroom. Sure enough, as soon as he opened the bathroom door, Izumi was there, looking like hell on two feet.

“Mornin’, gorgeous,” Izumi drawled, stepping past Abe and shutting the door behind him. Abe shook his head, then walked over to see if Mihashi was up yet. 

It took about ten minutes for everyone to wake, groggy and mostly hungover and deciding to move en masse to the cafeteria for whatever breakfast food they could manage. Abe looked carefully at Mihashi, who looked about as miserable as Abe felt, then decided to have pity on his partner in the elevator and pulled him to relax into his side.

As soon as the elevator doors opened and the smell of food wafted towards them, Mizutani bolted for the bathroom, hand slapped over his mouth. Izumi scoffed, hands in his pockets as he mumbled ‘lightweight’ under his mouth and then went straight for the coffee machine. Abe followed, flashing his identification card and snagging a plate of waffles and a glass of water to rehydrate.

They made for a miserable group, Abe knew, all obviously hung-over in the middle of a loud cafeteria that was about as miserable a place for a post-party breakfast as Abe could manage. But the thought of having to make breakfast for all those people when he was feeling like he was feeling - or making poor Mihashi have to do it - was absolutely out of the question. Definitely not.

By the time he got some food in him, Abe felt much better, and Mihashi seemed to be the same, though he still wasn’t looking quite up to his normal self. Right when he opened his mouth to ask if Mihashi wanted to go Drift, Mihashi’s phone chirped with a text notification. The blond pulled his phone out of his pocket, reading the message and then flushing with delight.

“It’s Oki-kun, um, asking if I can come see… uh, well, it’s a surprise!” Mihashi said cheerfully. “I’ll be right back, so I’ll… meet you for lunch?”

Abe’s first reaction was to offer to come as well, but something pinched his brain and he hesitated. He pulled out his own phone, opening his messages. He had one unread message, the one he’d ignored last night between being drunk and very comfortable with Mihashi sleeping on him, and sure enough, it was Haruna, ‘ _oi asshole call me when you’re free_ ’and so Abe nodded to Mihashi, watching as the blond blinked once, then slipped off. It was okay, Abe decided, looking back down to his phone. It would be better for him to talk to Haruna alone, anyway.

“Well, I’ve got a meeting with the Marshal, so I’ll see you boys later,” Izumi said, picking up his tray. Suyama and Sakaeguchi both continued eating slowly, and Abe stood from the table, tucking his phone back into his pocket as he grabbed his tray.

“I’m gonna head off too. Thanks for last night. It was fun,” he said, and Sakaeguchi shot him a delighted look while Suyama mirrored it well.

“Let’s do it again, sometime,” Suyama said, and Abe pulled a grimace.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he said, and it was laughter at his back as he walked to drop off his tray, then meander slowly back to his room. He pulled out his phone while he waited for the elevator to come, staring down at the messages Haruna had sent him, increasingly irritated that he wasn’t contacting him. He pulled up a text, and started:

[Yeah what makes you think i want

[I’m busy. I’ll call you l

[What do you wan

The elevator came as Abe was deleting his third text message, and he stepped on, then rode down to their floor, walking towards his room. He unlocked it with a quick jingle of his keys, then stepped inside, staring down at his phone as he shut the door behind him. He thumbed through the messages again, reading them as if something might have changed, and then he locked his phone and walked a few circles around his room. Frustrated beyond belief, he stripped and stepped into the shower, scrubbing at his body until he was red-hot and clean as a whistle.

He stepped out with a towel wrapped around his hips, looking around and sighing out when Mihashi was still gone. He checked his phone to see if Mihashi had called and he’d missed it, but there were no messages or missed calls. Just old calls, old messages, and new ones that made his stomach drop to his feet.

With a sharp noise, Abe pulled a pair of boxer briefs on, ditching the towel for a pair of sweat pants. He picked up his phone again, pulling up Haruna’s contact information and going to press the green call button when his thumb hesitated. He stared down at it, at Haruna’s name, and then he felt his teeth clench into a tortured expression as he wondered why the hell he was letting himself fall back into this. He was here, at Nishiura, with friends, with Mihashi. It didn’t really  _matter_ , whatever Haruna wanted or whatever he wanted to offer Abe, he could get here.

 _Except Haruna himself_ , Abe thought, hissing out a low curse. Then again, it could be anything, he rationalized. And then, with a soft exhale, he brought his phone back from where it had gone to sleep while waiting for him to make up his god damned mind, ready to push the call button only to startle when his phone started to ring on its own. He blinked down, then saw Shinooka’s name on the screen. He pressed the accept button, lifting the phone to his head. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Abe-kun, this is Shinooka!” she greeted, voice way too chipper when talking to someone who’d answered the phone as croakily as Abe knew he’d done. “After you have lunch, at one this afternoon, come to Marshal Momoe’s room. She’s having a meeting with all the Jaeger Pilots,” she said, and Abe felt his heart rise into his throat as he nodded.

“Yeah, sure, okay,” he said, and with a chipper farewell, Shinooka clicked shut the line, and Abe looked down at his phone, down to where his phone had reverted back to Haruna’s contact, the green call button still exactly where Abe had left it when he’d been ready to call. But the moment had passed, whatever courage he’d mustered was long gone, in its place exhaustion that was partly from still being hungover and partly the way when he closed his eyes he could feel Mihashi’s hair beneath his lips but could also hear Haruna’s laugh in his mind.

Abe sat heavily down on his couch, resting his phone on the floor next to him, then lied down, curling his arm around his head. He needed the rest anyway, he mused, closing his eyes and clearing his mind before letting himself drift into a slumber that somehow, bizarrely, didn’t feel quite right without Mihashi’s arm tangled around him, but when he remembered the flawless mesh of their minds in their Drift, the moment before the Simulation that had just been him and Mihashi, alone together in their minds and ready to fight, that was enough.


	20. bond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO SCREAMS????? AT HOW MUCH AMAZING GIFT ART I HAVE TO SHARE OMFG:
> 
> Actual IRL Angel Myra has FOUR (4): [a SUPER cool abemih kwoon animation](http://queenoftheantz.tumblr.com/post/115576201024/last-chapter-of-break-on-the-willow-shore-was), [super cute abemih pose](http://queenoftheantz.tumblr.com/post/115613132209/more-break-on-the-willow-shore-art), [WHOA miha pitching :O](http://queenoftheantz.tumblr.com/post/115884209804/what-is-this-more-break-on-the-willow-shore), and [miha kicking abe’s BUTT](http://queenoftheantz.tumblr.com/post/116060326749/here-we-go-again-break-on-the-willow-shore-you)
> 
> Literally The Cutest Person Ever Jill has more cute doodles than you can shake a stick at [here](http://sukekou.tumblr.com/post/115616691727/botws-doodles-if-u-havent-read-break-on-the). warning, extremely cute. 
> 
> WOW THANK YOU BOTH!! SO MUCH!!!! OMFG everyone please go thank them for sharing their super awesome talents!! 
> 
> hehehehehehehe...... please enjoy this chap 8)

Hanai woke slowly, pulled from a deep sleep before he was really ready to be conscious, his arms heavy as he reached up to press the heel of his hands against his eyes. He rubbed his eyelids until stars bloomed behind them, then blinked them open to stare at the network of coils that held Tajima’s bed above him. He closed them again and sighed softly, letting the weight of his body press into his mattress, wondering what time it was and trying to muster the initiative to reach over to grab his phone and see, only for his body to freeze when he heard a very familiar sound in the bunk above.

He was trying to be quiet for a change, Hanai noted, eyes swooping open as he stared at the mattress above him and noticed the slight movements above. Now that he was looking, he could trace the slow up and down motion at about where his hips should be, in perfect concert with the shaky exhale and a second sharp gasp, so soft in the room but so loud in Hanai’s head. He licked his lips, heart beginning to thud in his chest as his blood heated quickly in an attempt to catch up.

His hand slid down silently towards the waistband of his boxers, but when the cotton brushed the pads of his fingers, he stopped, pulse hammering between his ears as he remembered through the haze of alcohol Tajima on his knees, the cold wall digging into Hanai’s back and exactly what Tajima’s hair felt like threaded through his fingers. Hanai sank his teeth into his lower lip around a groan, keeping the noise inside his chest and silent to where Tajima was trying his best to get off without waking up his copilot. Maybe he was remembering it too, Hanai thought, letting his lip slide from between his teeth as easily as Tajima had slid down the zipper of his pants in the hall last night, tongue tracing the dip of skin just above his boxers before Sakaeguchi had interrupted them. Getting caught in the hall - the fact that he’d been intoxicated enough to  _let_  that happen in the hall - had doused every flame inside of him (much to a whiney Tajima’s chagrin, he recalled, all but throwing his copilot into his  _separate_  bunk before passing out in his own).

But now… Now, he could  _do_  something. He could put a surprised look on  _Tajima’s_  face, for once.

The decision was made in his head even before it was a real conscious thought, and Hanai slid out of bed as quietly as he could, hunkering over until his feet were planted on the floor. He waited for the slight hangover to let him stand straight, and then he stood, and about had the breath knocked out of him.

Tajima was  _gorgeous_ , shirt hiked halfway up his stomach and back arched as he rolled his hips carefully into his fist, thumb swiping the wet tip of his cock to slick around. It took a surprisingly small amount of effort to look away to Tajima’s face, his eyes squinted shut and his tongue flashing over his lips as he fought to keep his breaths even. Hanai’s dick  _hurt_ he was so hard, his hand reaching to clutch himself through his boxers, and just when he made to open his mouth to say something, Tajima’s eyes slit open and then widened to saucers, and for a moment when he was absolutely still. Then, he jerked his hand away from his erection, scrambling for his sheet and mouth spilling out incoherent half-apologies.

“ _Shit_ , Hanai, you - ”

“Tajima.”

“ - never  _looked_  before and it’s - ”

“Tajima.”

“ - I mean, you’re  _hot_ , and we’re… kinda… but I know that’s probably - ”

“ _Tajima_.” Hanai practically groaned, and finally, his partner stilled into a statue, now sitting cross-legged on his bed with his sheet draped across his hips, a cherry-red flush reaching from the tips of his ears all the way down to his shoulders, which were hitched up and stiff. He was staring down at his knees, obviously mortified, and somehow, that was  _hot_ as  _fuck_ , that Hanai had the power to make  _Tajima Yuuichirou_  feel embarrassed enough to blush.

“H… Hanai, are we… Is this…?”  _Okay_ , he heard on the tip of Tajima’s tongue, and that was what it took for every piece of glass Hanai had put between them - not a wall, no, not when he’d wanted to look, to see, to take every piece of his copilot in that he could without touching, because Tajima Yuuichirou was someone you could  _never_  ignore - to shatter and fall to his feet next to the doubts and warnings he decided could fuck off for the next half hour.

“Come here,” Hanai said, trailing his hands over Tajima’s bed. The second his fingers brushed Tajima’s knees, his copilot jolted as if he’d been electrocuted, eyes finally looking out of his lap to stare at Hanai, to meet his gaze, and Hanai saw the moment it clicked for him, saw the moment that they fell into an old familiar sync, and he half-expected a shit-eating grin to tumble onto Tajima’s face, but when Tajima’s eyes burned to the cinnamon intensity not too different from when they were in the Kwoon Combat Room, it felt as if he shouldn’t have expected any differently. He reached his hands out further, curled his fingers around Tajima’s calves and pulled. “Come here.”

Tajima slid forward, gaze locked with Hanai’s, until his legs came over the side of his bunk. Hanai put his hands on Tajima’s knees, sliding his palms up his copilot’s thighs until he let his fingers slip beneath where the sheet was tented. Hanai heard the hitch in Tajima’s breath, watched the wince of sweet agony when he tugged the sheet away, purposefully tugged it so it dragged against Tajima’s cock, a slow whisper of sensation that had Hanai’s breath coming even faster, as if it was his own body being touched.

When the sheet was finally bunched up at the foot of Tajima’s bed, Hanai broke their stare, glancing down to where Tajima's boxers were half-pulled down, erection coming back from where he’d panicked and fallen out of his heated mood. Hands rested on his shoulder, and when he glanced up, he had but a split second before Tajima’s mouth sealed over his own. Hanai exhaled into the kiss, relaxed into it for a second, then set to tracing his tongue over the indents where his copilot’s teeth had left marks on his lower lip before sinking his own teeth into the same place, a gentle scrape that had Tajima’s breath running over his face on a whine.

“Azusa,” Tajima whimpered, their foreheads pressed tightly together as Hanai let his fingers coil around the bottom of Tajima’s cock. Fingers clutched his shirt at his shoulders, tugging noiselessly at the fabric, a silent request, and Hanai ducked forward, letting his tongue trace the trailing bead of precum down to where it pooled on his thumb to the sound of Tajima’s soft sigh.

Hanai used his free hand to grip Tajima’s calf, bring it over his shoulder, fingers digging into the thick muscle there as he sucked the head of Tajima’s cock into his mouth before dipping down. Tajima’s other leg curled around, heels pressing into Hanai’s shoulder blades and fingers pulling first on his shoulder, then clawing to the nape of his head on a high-pitched gasp that was half his name. Hanai let Tajima guide him, rolled his tongue beneath Tajima’s flesh and groaned into the salty heat, hyper-aware of each gasp and moan above him on a register he hadn’t really appreciated before.

“Azusa, you’re so good, you’re so  _fucking_  good,  _fuck_  you’re so hot,” Tajima babbled mindlessly, nails digging into Hanai’s neck and pulling him even further. Hanai cut his eyes up, and when he saw Tajima watching him, pupils blown wide and mouth hanging open, they both moaned in unison, Tajima curling over him and Hanai hollowing his cheeks on a hard suck. He’d remember the noise Tajima made in response  _forever_ , sucked hard again to hear it again, a high-pitched half-strangled gasp that sounded like he’d been punched in the diaphragm and couldn’t breathe.

Tajima’s hips rolled gently into Hanai’s movements, the muscles on either side of his head flexing and  _fuck_ , Hanai couldn’t take it. He released Tajima’s cock and let his other hand grip Tajima’s thigh as well, gripping him tight, keeping him close and bobbing his head just a little more slowly than Tajima was obviously wanting him to go. He released him with a wet and filthy noise, a wet thread breaking between his mouth and Tajima’s cock that was half-spit and half-precum. He glanced up at Tajima again as he ducked down to mouth at the base of Tajima’s erection, right where his balls were tightening close to orgasm, sucking hard and getting another one of those noises that had Hanai’s boxers soaking wet.

“Do you wanna come in my mouth?” Hanai asked after he let his tongue dip into Tajima’s slit at the tip, and Tajima nodded rapidly, practically sobbing when Hanai took him in again, arching his hips forward as much as Hanai’s grip on his thighs would let him, sucking as hard as he could and  _finally_  letting Tajima dictate the pace, that same fast pace he knew from every single time they’d masturbated together, and then he heard it, that high-pitched whimper of his name, high and broken, but now he could feel it too in the shivers and singing tension of Tajima’s thighs, and he swallowed each pulse of semen as it came, going down far enough on Tajima that he could barely breathe and wasn’t sure if it was the hangover or his gag reflex or the sound of Tajima choking out his name like it was half a prayer and half a damnation making him dizzy.

Tajima stilled at last save for the post-orgasmic shivers, and Hanai swallowed around him again, inching up off of him until finally he gave one last tender lick to the tip and straightened. Tajima’s lips were on his before he could breathe, fingers cupping his face and tongue curling around his mouth on a low, satisfied moan. The kiss was slow and thorough, everything he never expected out of his copilot, leaving him breathless. Tajima sucked softly on Hanai’s tongue before he pulled back, humming in delight and smiling fiendishly. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he said, and Hanai felt his ears burn as he tried to remember how to breathe.

“What is?” he asked.

Tajima tightened his legs to pull Hanai closer, leaning down to nip at the lobe of his ear before he whispered, “Tasting my dick in your mouth.” Hanai hissed in a breath, and Tajima’s laughter spilled over him and bubbled inside like a sip of champagne. “Help me down. I don’t know if I can move my legs.”

A burst of pride filled his chest, and Hanai let Tajima’s legs slip off his shoulders so he was sitting on the edge of his bed normally. Tajima slid off the side, arms reaching up to curl around Hanai’s neck before pulling him into a kiss while rubbing against where Hanai was still achingly hard. Tajima’s fingers curled into Hanai’s shirt and pulled him a few steps to the side, until Hanai’s hands came against the wall next to their bed and he was hovering over Tajima. Small hands grabbed his hips, guiding and melded their bodies together, and Hanai sighed into the room when Tajima’s mouth sealed onto his throat. Every second of this was exactly how he wanted to live the rest of his life.

He felt Tajima’s hands wander from his hips up to curl around his sides, then back down, down, down until Tajima was on his knees, fingers plucking at Hanai’s waistband and tugging. Hanai watched as Tajima stared at his cock as it bounced free, felt the blood in his body heat at the thought of Tajima’s loud mouth wrapped around him. He let his hands flatten on the wall, staring intently down at the top of Tajima’s head, holding his breath when his copilot leaned in and - bit his lip in frustration when Tajima’s mouth pressed a kiss to his thigh. He shuddered as Tajima’s mouth trailed upwards, tongue wet on his skin and teeth an occasional nip into reality, Hanai’s breath speeding up and his pulse thundering as his cock got wetter and wetter without even being touched.

Then, Tajima reached up his hands and had Hanai spread his legs a bit, and right when Hanai thought  _finally_ , Tajima sucked hard and fast on a spot on the softness of his inner thigh, a red splotch left behind like a burn mark to match the harsh  _fuck_  that had tumbled out of Hanai’s mouth, watching until finally he couldn’t take it anymore.

“T-Tajima, what are you - ?” he said, voice broken even to his own ears. Tajima hummed against Hanai’s thigh, letting his cheek rub against Hanai’s cock and getting a smear of precum on it as he looked up and grinned deviously. Hanai knew then that he definitely wanted to die with that image in his head.

“I’m thinking about how I wanna make you come,” Tajima said simply, sucking another hickey on Hanai’s other inner thigh, high enough that his ear brushed Hanai’s balls and made him shiver. “I  _really_  want you to fuck my mouth, but I’ve always wanted to eat you out, too. I think I could probably make you come without ever touching your dick.”

“ _Tajima_ ,” Hanai breathed, and he’d meant it to sound defensive and horrified, but it had come out like a plea.

“I’ve got lube, though, so I could finger you, too. Make it last long enough so I could  _finally_  fuck your ass. Geez, you don’t have  _any_  idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Hanai felt his knees just about give out, his forearms pressing hard against the wall to keep him upright and his whole body giving away to a flush as his eyes clenched shut. “I’d totally be into you fucking me, too, though. Sometimes when I’m getting off, I’ll put a couple fingers in there and pretend it’s you. Your fingers are a lot longer than mine, though, so it’s kinda hard.”

At this rate, Hanai was pretty sure Tajima wouldn’t get a chance to do any of those things, because Hanai was already on the brink of coming just from the barrage of images and the ghost trails of Tajima’s hair on his cock while he ran his lips softly over the inner skin of Hanai’s thigh. But Tajima wasn’t stopping, his voice curling around Hanai’s head like a velvet embrace, “I wanna fuck you every way I can, so I’m having a tough time picking what to do.”

“Tajima, please,” Hanai sobbed, and he opened his eyes to see Tajima sitting seiza in front of him, and a bright grin spread on his copilot’s face that was the exact shape and size as the day they’d met. The sight alone was almost enough to finish him.

“Okay. If I put my hand on your stomach, then stop, but I want you to fuck my mouth, Hanai,” Tajima said, fingernails scraping lightly up the back of his legs and sending shivers down every inch of Hanai’s body. Tajima leaned in, pressing a wet kiss on his hip, eyes fluttering shut and an adoring tone to his voice. “Don’t let me breathe.”

“Oh, God,” Hanai swore, and with that Tajima opened his mouth and sucked in Hanai’s cock, fingers reaching up to grip his ass tightly, and Tajima pulled him in deep. Hanai’s head rolled back to his shoulders, a hand falling to Tajima’s head to tug on his hair. He watched for a few heartbeats, watched his dick smooth on the inside of Tajima’s cheek, the slick heat of his throat making his cock glisten with each pump, but then Tajima’s eyes opened and glanced up at his, and even with a mouth full of dick, Hanai could  _hear him_ dare Hanai to do his worst.

Hanai let his other hand fall to Tajima’s head as well, and he rolled his hips once, testing the waters, deep and slow into Tajima’s throat. When a soft groan was the only response, he pulled back and thrust again, his toes curling in delight and stars blooming on the back of his eyelids. It was hot and wet and so  _fucking_ good _,_ and he couldn’t swallow the whimper out of his mouth even if he’d tried. Tajima’s fingers dug into his ass when he pulled back again, and Hanai quickened his thrusts slowly, speeding up in such tiny amounts that it felt like an age of the earth, but then he was lost, hips canting, pulling Tajima’s hair as he let himself go. He dug his teeth into his lip to keep the noises in, but then Tajima’s fingers slipped in the sweat of his body, and one hand reached up to press in the cleft of his ass, and with that, Hanai’s brain splintered to white, and he could hear himself grunting Tajima’s name - his  _first_ name - into the coil of heat between them. He lasted only two more thrusts after that, holding Tajima deep onto his cock with one hand as the other had to reach up to the wall to catch himself, pulsing deep into his copilot’s throat even as firm fingers reached up to press on his perineum to milk him for more.

He stood there, shivering, until finally he looked down to see Tajima’s face, flushed with tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. A bolt of fear rushed out of him, and he pulled out as quickly as he could, dropping to his knees and clutching Tajima’s cheeks between his hands. “Holy shit, Yuu, fuck, I’m sorry, are you okay?!”

Tajima nodded, eyes opening even as Hanai thumbed away the streaks. “It was… a lot,” Tajima said, voice wrecked from having his throat fucked, and for a split second, Hanai thought he meant one thing, but then, Tajima’s eyes opened and met his, and he knew then that no, Tajima had meant something else, and something tightened in his chest.

“Yeah… Yeah, it was,” he agreed, and he felt Tajima move at the exact moment that he pulled him closer, their bodies pressed together in a snuggled hug on their floor, Hanai’s back pressed against his lower bunk bed and their arms wrapped around one another. Hanai stared at their ceiling, hands rubbing Tajima’s back mindlessly, and he sighed out, wondering how to say that they should get back into bed if they wanted to cuddle before his ass fell asleep, only for his phone to ring before he could.

Hanai reached up to his bedside table and groped around for his phone as much as he could without moving, causing Tajima to snicker against his chest. He finally found it and accepted the call, holding his phone up to his ear. “Hello?” he said, glaring down at Tajima when he felt inquisitive fingers slipping up beneath his shirt in perfect time to an absolutely  _criminal_  smirk.

“Hello, Hanai-kun, it’s Shinooka. There’s a meeting for the Jaeger pilots this afternoon at one in Marshal Momoe’s office, so you and Tajima-kun need to be there.”

Hanai filed away the information just as Tajima’s mouth wrapped around his nipple and he had to tip the phone away from his mouth to keep a strangled noise from reaching poor Shinooka’s ear. “S-Sure, we’ll be there,” he managed, and with a click, he hung up the phone and tossed it onto his bed. “You are a  _menace_ ,” he growled, but it was hard to be too angry when Tajima’s smile was curled around a fresh hickey on his chest.

“Ten bucks says I can make you come before you can get into bed,” Tajima challenged. Hanai’s eyebrow raised defiantly.

Four minutes later, panting with an arm slung across his forehead and disbelieving eyes staring up at the ceiling, Tajima giggling delightfully into his throat, Hanai briefly started wondering where the nearest ATM was.

\----------

Abe jolted awake when his phone vibrated on his chest, picking it up groggily and blinking at the screen to see Mihashi’s name next to the flashing light. He stared at it for a second as he wondered why the hell Mihashi would call him when they were practically attached at the hip, brain restarting from his nap in the next second when he remembered that Mihashi had gone to pick something up from Oki. He accepted the call and held the phone up to his ear, clearing his throat before he answered with a croaky, “Hey, you done?”

“Yeah, I’m on my way back to the room, so I’ll be there in just a second. Are you ready for lunch?” Mihashi’s voice asked, a little quieter on the phone that it was in person, and Abe closed his eyes as he yawned a bit.

“I will be by the time you get here,” he said, voice still heavy with sleep, and Mihashi’s response was a soft hum.

“Would you rather me bring you something so you can sleep some more?” he asked, and Abe felt a fond smile cross his face.

“No, it’s okay. Come on, and we’ll go together.”

“Okay. See you in a bit, Abe-kun.”

Abe made a gentle noise of acknowledgement, then pulled the phone away and ended the call. He looked at his recent calls where Mihashi’s name was at the top of the list, studying the kanji for a brief moment before he exhaled and sat up off the couch. He stood carefully, still a bit woozy from last night’s inebriation, but definitely feeling better after a nap. He shuffled over to their drawers and pulled on a cotton shirt, then pulled off the sweatpants he’d been wearing and dropped them on his bed to wear again that night.

Right as he was tucking his shirt into his fatigues, the door creaked open and Mihashi walked in, a small box in his arms. Hazel eyes swept across the room to meet his, and Abe smiled when Mihashi’s face brightened. “Hey,” he greeted, turning around to snag his belt.

“H-Hi,” Mihashi greeted, dropping the box off on the table from the sound of the light thunk over Abe’s shoulder. He twisted his torso to get a glance as he threaded his belt through the loops, spotting Mihashi smooth his hands tenderly over the top of the box before cutting his eyes to Abe. Abe turned the rest of the way, walking over to Mihashi and tugging his belt through the buckle. “You look better. Did you… sleep well?”

“Yeah, I passed out on the couch pretty much as soon as I got back to the room,” Abe said, settling his belt in place. He put a hand on the box lightly, watching as Mihashi’s spine tightened anxiously with a twist of humor. “Is the box still a secret now or do I get to know what’s inside?”

Mihashi’s posture immediately softened, expression twisting into what might be construed as a playfully peeved face, and Abe’s mouth pulled into an even wider grin at the fact that Mihashi was starting to be able to recognize when he was messing with him. “Secret!” Mihashi said, swatting Abe’s hand lightly off of the top, and with a laugh, Abe pulled it away, going to the door to pull his shoes on.

“All right, you win for now,” Abe conceded. “Come on, let’s go get some lunch before we head to Marshal’s office.”

“Marshal’s office?” Mihashi blinked, following Abe through the door and into the hall. Abe locked the door behind them, slipping his keys into his pocket as he followed the blond towards the elevators and stepped into place next to him. Shinooka probably only bothered to talk to one of them since they were always together, Abe mused, running a hand up the back of his neck into his hair as he stretched his head to the side slightly.

“Yeah, apparently all the Jaeger pilots were called for a meeting at one,” Abe said. Mihashi’s face turned towards the front, and a silence stretched between them for a moment.

“Did… Do we know why?” Mihashi asked, and Abe shook his head. “What does… What do you think? Is it something good? Or…”

“I have no idea, Mihashi,” Abe sighed, but even as the words came out of his mouth, his chest tightened around the fact that they had their own,  _custom_  electromyograph suits. The fact that they had a drop under their belt. A drop  _and_  a kill. A record-breaking kill, at that, with one hundred-percent Drift compatibility. Numbers that didn’t come to  _twins_  as easily as it came to them. For a meeting to be called after that…. But maybe it had come too late, Abe couldn’t help but worry. Izumi’s report was due soon, after all, and he’d need data from multiple drops to get it done. Data that showed that Nishiura was the base that needed to keep Big Windup. That Abe and Mihashi needed Big Windup.

The walk to the cafeteria was silent, even when Abe finally managed to pull himself out of his thoughts to look at Mihashi and try to gauge how he was doing. The blond had an inscrutable look on his face, but whatever words Abe might have struggled to use to cheer the blond up felt unnecessary. Words between them were always tough. Instead, he reached a hand over and slung his arm over Mihashi’s shoulders. Almost immediately, Mihashi’s expression lightened just a touch, his body relaxing a bit more, and even though he hadn’t been tense or anxious before, not really, he was better now. Abe brought his eyes to the red numbers flashing, waiting for the elevator to get to the floor and then stepping off, arm still around Mihashi’s neck, and heart warming his a bit when he felt strong fingers curl in his shirt in the small of his back.

Abe released Mihashi only when he had to in order to reach into his back pocket to pull his wallet out for his identification card, flashing it to the attendant and then grabbing a tray for both himself and Mihashi. He handed Mihashi his, then looked at the food, not really hungry but knowing he should eat in order to get over his hangover better. He grabbed a bowl of rice and a large salad, with two boiled eggs for protein. He filled a cup with water, then turned to see Sakaeguchi eating by himself, Mihashi already approaching him and getting a brilliant smile. Abe followed, putting his tray down as Sakaeguchi sighed out across from him.

“Hello, Abe,” Sakaeguchi greeted. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah, I took a nap so I’m good,” Abe said, sitting down and pouring the dressing over his salad first. Next to him, Mihashi had loaded up, obviously not suffering the same lack of appetite that Abe was feeling. “How about you?”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking!” Sakaeguchi responded, poking his pasta around with his fork a bit. “A little anxious because of the pilot meeting this afternoon, as it’s not usually too common that Momokan calls everyone together at once like this, but fine, really. Things are always a little tense around when the reports are due for the quarter, but I’ve just about got mine finished and Mizutani just finished his, so. Soon.”

“Sakaeguchi-kun has…?” Mihashi asked, sentence trailing off a bit, and Abe blinked as he tried to translate exactly what he was asking, but Sakaeguchi was faster, sighing out dramatically as he slouched over the table with his jaw in his hands.

“Yeah, I’ve got to do one, too. I’m responsible for all the Jumphawk pilots, so I’ve got to go around and talk to everyone and get  _their_  reports, and then I’ve got to do  _my_  report, and honestly it’s so much paperwork, but I suppose I shouldn’t expect any less working for P.P.D.C., really.” Sakaeguchi sighed, and Abe mentally sympathized, remembering the nightmare of paperwork he’d had to complete in order to get his transfer to Nishiura finalized, but Mihashi was all sparkle-eyed, mouth hanging open in awe.

“S-Sakaeguchi-kun is… in charge of everyone?! Amazing!” he said, and Sakaeguchi laughed, cheeks turning a light pink.

“Well, when you put it that way, it does sound cool, doesn’t it?” Sakaeguchi straightened, twisting his fork around through his fingers a couple times as he spoke. “Honestly, it’s just because I have seniority. Unlike most of the other pilots, I didn’t start out in the Jaeger program. I went straight into the Jumphawk training, so I’ve got a few months on everyone, so when the last head retired, I got promoted to the spot. It’s not too much different from everyone else, except I have more paperwork to do and I make a bit more money. Some days it feels more worth it than others!” Sakaeguchi’s laugh was warm and friendly, and Abe felt a smile on his face bloom in its influence.

Sakaeguchi finished his lunch but stayed to chat while Abe and Mihashi ate, then went back to the Shatterdome as Abe and Mihashi left to go to to the elevator and ride up to the Marshal’s office. The silence between them was comfortable, but outside their bubble, there was a tension as tight as steel cords. They didn’t say a word as they rode the elevator up, and when they stepped out into the noisy hall and passed people on their way to the Marshal’s office, it remained so.

Mihashi knocked on the door and then opened it, stepping inside as Momoe called for the both of them to step inside. Abe followed, shutting the door behind him even as he looked around and saw the small group of people inside - Tajima and Hanai, unsurprisingly, and Suyama stood there as well, not quite surprising considering he was also qualified as a Jaeger pilot; but the moment Abe saw both Izumi and Mizutani standing next to Shiga, who was just behind Momoe next to Shinooka, Abe’s gut twisted in a tight knot. Suddenly, he had a very strong suspicion what this meeting was about, and the anxiety had all him feeling more nauseous than all the beer he’d drunk last night.

“Abe-kun, Mihashi-kun, perfect. You’re all a little early, but since everyone’s here, I suppose we’ll go on ahead and get started,” Momoe said, hands tight on her hips and her shoulders back as she dominated the room as easily as she stood in it. “I’ve been watching everyone’s progress, and speaking both with the experts in our LOCCENT and with Oki-kun, as well as Izumi-kun and Mizutani-kun, extensively. I’ve had a big decision to make.”

Abe swallowed thickly as he stood straight, not quite at attention but very close to it. And then, there was a warmth at his hand - Mihashi’s fingers curling around his own, and honestly, Abe couldn’t be sure if he’d reached for Mihashi or vice versa. He gripped Mihashi’s hand back, finding a tiny bit of strength in the contact, despite the fact that his jaw was still clenched and his eyes focused sharply on Momoe.

“And so, today, I have finally come to my decision. I will make the official Jaeger Team announcement.” Her eyes looked to Suyama and she smiled just a little wider, and Abe was sure he was going to pass out. “Shinooka-chan? Are you ready?” Shinooka nodded, dictation ready to go, Abe saw out of the corner of his eyes, but he couldn’t look away from Momoe if a Kaiju came bowling through the base and asked him nicely. “For the first team, Striker Cleanup, the official team will be Hanai-kun and Tajima-kun. Backup team is Hanai-kun and Suyama-kun. Head mechanic is Mizutani-kun.”

Abe heard Hanai release a soft breath, but Tajima’s delighted laugh was much less stifled. Mihashi’s hand on Abe’s hand about broke his fingers, but with the golden shimmering light filling his chest with white-hot joy, he could barely feel the pain. All he needed were the words out of Momoe’s voice to make it official.

“The second team is Big Windup, and the official team is Abe-kun and Mihashi-kun, and the backup team is Tajima-kun and Mihashi-kun, though we may substitute Abe-kun depending on the situation. Head mechanic is Izumi-kun.” There it was. Abe closed his eyes, head tilting back as he felt the burning at the corners of his eyes. There it was. It was official. He was a Jaeger pilot again, he was a Jaeger pilot and Mihashi Ren was his partner. They’d  _made it_.

As soon as he managed to collect himself into not falling apart in the middle of the meeting, Abe straightened his head, exhaling shakily. The realization that his fingers were numb for how tightly Mihashi was squeezing his fingers came then, but he didn’t dare look at the blond, not yet, not when he knew it would set him off for real. Instead, he focused his attention on Momoe, who was looking at the both of them with a delighted look on her face.

“Abe-kun, Mihashi-kun, congratulations. I’ve been very pleased with the effort you two have put in, and the numbers Hamada-kun have shared with me have been nothing short of impressive. Oki-kun and Izumi-kun both have faith in you, and I know you’ll do well.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Abe said, in perfect harmony to Mihashi, and the response had Momoe’s eyes glinting proudly. She then looked to Shinooka, who stepped forward with a bright grin on her face.

“Congratulations, you two! Now, your assignment to Big Windup is official on the papers, of course, but we still have to have the official assignment ceremony. We’ve scheduled it for the day after tomorrow, at ten in the morning, so if you have anyone you’d like to invite, it’s open to public invitation. The press will also be there, so make sure you look sharp!” Shinooka looked to Mihashi, reaching a hand up to tuck a small curl of hair behind her ear. “I’ll help you with that, Mihashi-kun, and Tajima-kun and Hanai-kun can give you advice, and Abe-kun too, since he’s done this before, too. Do you have a suit?”

“Um, I think… so… I’ll look and call you as soon as we get back to the room,” Mihashi said, and Shinooka nodded, holding her clipboard to her chest.

“Okay, that’s fine! I’ll be hearing from you, then!” She then turned to Tajima and Hanai, grinned at them, and when she looked to Suyama, she winked, earning a subtle thumb’s up in response. Abe felt his brow furrow just a hair, curiosity tickling him just long enough for him to recognize and then dismiss it. It didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered save for the fact that he was a Jaeger pilot and his dream copilot had crushed his hand at the news.

“Well, that’s it for now, boys. You’re all dismissed,” Momoe said, and Abe went to pull Mihashi away to have a word of his own, but before he could, Tajima and Izumi both darted forward, matching grins on their faces as they practically tackled Mihashi in a rush, ruffling his hair and pulling on his cheeks in delight. Mihashi’s hand slipped out of Abe’s, and he winced as the blood finally started to rush to his poor fingers.

“Mihashi! You did it!” Tajima yelled, and Abe stepped forward to rip the idiot off his copilot before he hurt him, only for Hanai to step in and do it for him. Tajima shot Hanai a sulky look, but it disappeared quickly, Tajima’s excitement proving far too strong for a simple thing like that to stop him. “You gotta be careful, though! Y’know our team symbol? The Kaiju skull?”

Mihashi nodded rapidly, and Abe lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. Team Striker cleanup’s symbol consisted of a skull and crossbones with a Kaiju skull above baseball bats, but as Tajima slung an arm around Mihashi’s neck to draw him close, Abe waited for what was apparently a deeper story.

“Well, it was  _going_  to be just a random Kaiju skull, but the day before our assignment ceremony, Roundhorn attacked and entered our jurisdiction. That was our first real drop, and our first kill, so they changed the logo to Roundhorn’s skull instead.” Abe crossed his arms, genuinely impressed. Roundhorn had been the first Category III Kaiju recorded, and while he’d known it was Tajima and Hanai to take it down, the fact that it was their first drop… It was definitely something to be proud of.  _Definitely_  something to incorporate into the logo, if given the chance. “Anyway,” Tajima said, drawing out the syllables as he poked Mihashi in the cheek, “don’t slack off just because the ceremony is coming. You never know what’ll happen!”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Abe said, watching as Mihashi’s face paled slightly. This was their moment to be elated, and hell if Tajima was going to ruin it, even if he was right.

“Yeah, Tajima, fuck off. Joy kill, much?” Izumi drawled, pinching his arm so that Tajima jerked off of Mihashi.  Izumi quickly replaced it with his own arm, tugging him away from Tajima and towards Abe, blue eyes locking with Abe’s. “So, now that that’s official, I’m going to start monitoring your Simulations so I can start calibrating Big Windup properly. I’d also like to get the both of you into Big Windup’s Pons before the end of the weekend, so plan on being a little flexible, yeah?”

“Sure thing,” Abe agreed. “We’ll give you a call when we’re on our way to the Simulator, then?”

“Perfect. If you could aim for afternoons, that would be awesome, just saying.” Abe raised an eyebrow, and Izumi mirrored the action, daring him to say something. Shaking his head, Abe sighed.

“We’ll figure something out,” Abe said, and Izumi grinned, hooking a thumb on his pocket as he tilted his hip away from Mihashi’s and glanced at the blond.

“How ‘bout it, Mihashi? I can’t imagine you’ve already Drifted today with the kind of hangovers you two were nursing, so you wanna hop on in in a bit?”

Mihashi nodded rapidly, fingers raising to his chest level and twisting together as he made a soft noise. “Oh, I… I need to call… first, my parents, I need to call them first, to invite them, and - ”

“Right, you do that, and I’ll see you in the Simulator room in a bit. Abe,” Izumi said in a farewell, releasing Mihashi and slapping a hand on Abe’s shoulder as he stepped past. “Good work, man. I mean it. You worked hard for this, and I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Abe said, meaning the word from the bottom of his gut. “Really. Thanks.” Izumi grinned, tightened his hand on Abe’s shoulder in a friendly squeeze, and then slipped out into the hall. Abe looked up to where Mizutani was talking with Tajima and Hanai about something, so he reached over to Mihashi, still not quite meeting his eyes, not yet, and pulled him out into the hall.

He made it three strides before he couldn’t take it anymore. He stopped, feet frozen, hand still wrapped around Mihashi’s bicep. Mihashi stopped as well, and Abe turned towards him slowly, lifting his other hand to grip Mihashi’s other bicep, sharing at his chest, his hand trailing up to his shoulders, and then, finally, heart clenching tightly in his chest, Abe brought his eyes up to meet Mihashi’s, looking at him as a copilot,  _really_  his copilot, for the first time. And then, right when Abe thought that he was going to be okay, that he could open his mouth and say something inspirational to keep them going forward, Mihashi smiled. But it wasn’t that tiny smile, that ghostly impersonation, it was his  _real_  smile, the one that whited out Abe’s mind and warmed him from the inside out like a summer day. Fingers clenched in his shirt at his sides, and Mihashi swayed forward, pressing their foreheads together as a delighted laugh rushed over Abe’s face from the smile that had rendered him speechless.

“Are those… happy tears?” Mihashi asked after a second, and Abe startled, taking one of his hands off Mihashi’s shoulders and straightening just enough so he could wipe at his eyes. They hadn’t fallen, but sure enough, there had been tears on his lashes while he’d been drowning in the emotions choking him.

“Yeah, yeah, they are,” Abe assured, the hand still holding Mihashi gliding to his neck to tighten in a soft gesture. He wanted to say something, to say everything, but not only did he not know the words, he closed his eyes and somehow felt everything inside of him mirrored perfectly in Mihashi’s heart. He let his hand fall to his side, satisfied and so very, very full. “All right. I need… I should call my parents. You too. I’m sure they want to come to our ceremony.”

Mihashi was as soft and golden as sunlight before him, and the smile he gave was just as blinding. “Yeah! I’ll… meet you in the Simulator locker room?” he asked, and Abe nodded, watching as Mihashi skipped off to go find a private place to make the call to his parents to tell them the news. Abe stood in the hall, eyes closed and feeling so many things at once he wasn’t sure where to begin. But his feet started moving, and he let them, following them to the stairwell at the side of the building, down, down, down, until he stepped out and found himself on one of the Shatterdome’s outer rings.

He followed the catwalk around, the noise of the Shatterdome echoing beneath him as he searched, until finally he came to a stop directly in front of Big Windup. He let his eyes run over it, the metal gleaming and perfect, contrasting with the tarp still draped over its left shoulder to hide the Team Big Windup logo. He wondered if there was even a logo under there yet, or if they had waited to paint it until they knew the team, if they’d get one as personalized to them as Tajima and Hanai had. Whatever it looked like, he closed his eyes and imagined what it would feel like to slip his hands into the arms of the soft jacket, the logo burning brightly on his back that he and Mihashi had fought so desperately to earn, letting everyone know that he was no longer just himself, he was half to a whole, one body and one soul with his copilot at last.

Abe pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and pulled up the contact information for his mother’s cell phone, pressing the call button and bringing the phone up to his ear. He listened to the rings, closed his eyes and saw it so easily in his mind: his mother always kept her cell phone on the kitchen table when she was at home, and maybe she was cleaning, or maybe she’d been cooking, or doing laundry, and now she was jogging lightly to catch it, slightly out of breath, and -

“Taka! Do you have  _any_  idea how long it’s been since you called?!” she demanded as soon as she answered the phone, tone sharp but also as loving as a mother’s always was.

“Since I was in the hospital,” Abe answered, smiling despite the fact that his mother was scolding him.

“Honestly, you should think of us more often. We’ve been worried sick. Even a mail every few days would be better!”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll take care of it,” he said, eyes looking up at Big Windup as he leaned against the rail in front of him. “So, I’ve got some news for you.”

“I gathered as much. You’d never call just to chat.”

Abe let the sly mark hit its mark because, well, she had a point. “I just got assigned to a Jaeger, officially.”

“Oh,  _Takaya_ ,” his mother groaned in something between pride and agony, then, “Give me a second, I’ve got to sit down for - okay, okay, go on.”

“It’s a new line, Mark IV. No more nuclear power.” Abe heard his mother sigh out in relief, and he trailed Big Windup’s shoulders with his eyes as he talked. “My copilot, Mihashi… we’ve worked really hard for this.”

“Takaya, you work hard for everything,” his mother sighed, and then a small break in noise as she transferred the phone to the other ear. “Is there going to be another ceremony?”

“Yeah, day after tomorrow at ten in the morning.”

“Shun-chan’ll be delighted to see you. He tells all his friends about his big brother the Jaeger pilot, you know. Your father… he worries, but he’ll be so proud, too. We’ll all be there for sure. Do you know if your copilot’s parents are coming?”

Abe stood straight, slipping his hand into his pocket. “No idea. His cousin is apparently a Ranger Cadet at Musashino, graduating this week.” He looked down to his feet, throat a knot of emotion as he tried to think of how to explain to his mother everything he’d been through,  _wanting_  to tell her, but  _desperately_  needing her  _not_  to know, because there were some things a mother just couldn’t know. He wanted to tell her about the suits, how they were amazing and allowed for the kind of movement a pilot dreamed of but also hurt like his worst nightmares, how Mihashi had gotten under his skin to burn him from the inside out, ask what was the best way to tell Haruna to fuck off when he wasn’t even sure that was what he really wanted - in a single moment, Abe closed his eyes and really felt his youth, for the first time. It occurred to him that he really,  _really_  wanted to give his mom a hug.

“Well, I hope they come. I’ll have to apologize to them that their son’s going to have to put up with you,” his mother tutted, and Abe did a properly scandalized sound in response, listening to his mother’s teasing laugh with every ounce of fondness he held in his chest. “How are you doing, sweetheart? I know… things were tough for you, at Musashino. I’ve been worried.”

“I’m doing great, mom,” Abe responded, and he felt a smile on his face as he said it, because it was true. “I’m really looking forward to seeing everyone, though. It’s been a while. Maybe if you come early, Mihashi can make you breakfast. He’s got this… magic touch in the kitchen.”

“Oh, really?” Abe’s mom said. “I’m delighted to hear that you’ll be getting at least one good meal a day, then. It’s a shame you didn’t pick up any of my skills in the kitchen before you left. You’re too much like your father, sometimes. There was one interview you smirked, and I swear it was just like I was looking at him back when we were in high school. Except you’ve got my looks, lucky you.”

“Heh,” Abe laughed, turning his back on Big Windup and leaning against the rails. “All right, well, I’ve got to go. Mihashi and I are still getting our Jaeger calibrated to us, so we won’t be on any official drops soon, I don’t think, but we’ve got to be in top shape just in case.”

“Right, I understand,” Abe’s mom said, and then, as if she’d been bursting to say it the entire conversation, she blurted out suddenly, “I love you, Taka. Please be careful. Your father and your brother and I… we’d be absolutely devastated if anything happened to you. You know I hate this, but… I’m proud of you, dear. I’m proud, and I know your heart is in the right place, so just. Be careful. Take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Abe softly said, letting the words settle around his shoulders like a suit of armor. “See you Sunday morning, and let me know if you’re coming early so I can warn Mihashi.”

“Oh, count on it. A meal that has my boy bragging is worth trying,” Abe’s mother huffed, and Abe laughed, gripping the railing next to his hip. “Okay, sweetie. I love you. Tell Mihashi I look forward to meeting him, and take care.”

“I will. Bye, mom,” Abe said, and with a soft exhale, he brought the phone away from his ear and ended the call. A warmth settled in his gut, pleasant and very welcome. He opened his messages, about to send a mail to Mihashi to let him know he was on his way, but as soon as he opened it, Haruna’s message displayed at the top, causing the corner of Abe’s mouth to dip down into a frown. His thumb hovered over the message, wondering if perhaps he should call him now, when he was in a good mood and wouldn’t be as much of an ass, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he closed his eyes and locked his phone screen. No point in wasting a good mood on an asshole like Haruna. He could wait. Besides, Mihashi was waiting for him.

His  _copilot_  was waiting, Abe thought, and with a grin that was so wide it hurt, he kicked off the railing and headed for the nearest elevator, phone in his pocket and untouched, for now.

 


	21. harbinger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [hides previous update date behind my hand] 
> 
> at least the hiatus wasn't after _this_ chapter? MAN that would have been AWESOME

Izumi hit the save button on his report, a soft exhale escaping his lips at the overwhelming relief loosened on his chest. Then, with a few more clicks and ten seconds of waiting ( _only_  ten, thanks to the amazing wifi at Nishiura, so much better than the hellish nightmare at Kodiak), there was a small confirmation window that popped up, and a small ping to his email.

His report for Big Windup was officially submitted.

He was a few days early, and he’d only had the data from the one drop Mihashi and Abe had pulled, but it had felt prudent to send it already. The numbers were good - well,  _good_  wasn’t quite a strong enough word, but it was inching towards four in the morning so fuck having a good vocabulary - and it wasn’t like P.P.D.C. wouldn’t go crawling through the records for supplemental data anyway. As long as he kept his records updated daily from now until when whichever white collar got slated to pull his files, they’d be more than fine. Or at least, fine according to that one file he’d found. Hopefully it was still true.

Just when Izumi was starting to wonder if he should pull his ass to the coffee pot for another cup or just power through his next mental to-do list item before crawling into bed for a few hours, the door clacked open. Izumi’s eyes looked up from the computer screen for what was probably the first time since his last bathroom break, sometime around one. It took him a moment to blink through the darkness to see who it was, eyes having adjusted to the harsh glare of his laptop screen in the midnight break room long ago.

“How are you still awake?” Mizutani’s voice came, tinged with disbelief and what was probably worry, knowing him. Izumi blinked once more, and finally he saw the way Mizutani was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed firmly. Before he could make out the expression on Mizutani’s face, however, he saw the movement of a hand towards the light switch and -

“Fucking  _hell_ ,” Izumi swore, hand raising to press to his eyes when the bright fluorescence pierced his eyes like a knife. “How about giving me a little warning before you blind me next time, huh?”

“Sorry,” Mizutani’s sheepish response came, and then a soft sigh. Izumi lowered his hand, glaring through the brightness, and saw the pulled frown on Mizutani’s face. “Your report isn’t due for a few days, y’know. Unless it’s like, super tough for the Mark IV line?”

“No, it’s not really all that different,” Izumi responded, reaching over to his coffee cup and staring down at the last cold sip he’d forgotten he’d had halfway through his conclusion. Damn.

“Oh. Well, can I help?”

Izumi looked up to Mizutani from his coffee cup and stared into what was probably the idiot’s best attempt to hide a hopeful look. It wasn’t very successful. “As if I’d trust you with it.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I graduated third in my class!” Mizutani snapped defensively, and Izumi just shook his head, laughing softly. “It’s true! And - and I’m just. Worried. About you.”

Studying Mizutani’s face, Izumi put his coffee cup down next to his laptop. “I’m pretty sure I’m not the one you’re supposed to be worrying about. You’ve got two idiot pilots under your belt after all.”

“Well, yeah, but at least I know what to do with them,” Mizutani said. There was a hiccup of hesitation, a silence stretching over the break room, and then, “It’s just. I don’t ever see you sleep, really. And I know you say it’s because of the time difference and all that, but it’s been a week now, and you’re still - I’m just.”

“Worried,” Izumi repeated, and Mizutani nodded, teeth sunk low into his lower lip. Izumi’s eyes fell again to the tightness of his folded arms, and he wondered if that was some kind of subconscious attempt for comfort. He exhaled carefully. “Look, I get that you’re worried, but really, I’m fine. It’s - I’m used to it.”

“How can you  _possibly_  think it’s fine to be up all night on your computer instead of sleeping?” Mizutani asked pointedly. “It’s not healthy. It’s dangerous for Abe and Mihashi, too! What if - What if you make a mistake or something because you’re tired? You could get them killed, you know!  _All_  of us!”

Mizutani’s jaw clenched shut and his face dropped to an unhealthy pale. Izumi closed his eyes, letting the wry smile cross his face. If he had a yen every time. “Look, that was,” Mizutani started, carefully, but Izumi interrupted him.

“I hear what you’re saying. But you’re not hearing what I’m saying. I’m fine.” Izumi leaned back in his chair, far enough that the two front legs came off the ground and he was reclined fully. “As for the computer, that actually calms my mind down enough for me to manage what sleep I do. So like, chill the fuck out.”

“What are you even  _doing_ ,” Mizutani asked, and at that, Izumi felt his stomach tighten just a bit. Just enough.

“If I told you that, I’d have to kill you,” he responded smoothly, letting the snark fill his voice enough for Mizutani to shoot him an unimpressed look. He waited for the laugh, but it didn’t come. In its place, Mizutani’s thoughtful look fell to the same strain he’d had the moment he’d walked into the break room.

“It’s - It’s okay though, right?” Mizutani asked, and Izumi scowled in his confusion. “I mean, you know, how - how breaking the rules is okay as long as it’s for a good reason, type of thing. It’s… It’s okay.”

Izumi huffed out a laugh, letting his chair fall back down to all four legs as he leaned forward on the table, propping his head up on one arm as the other draped along the back of his chair. “If you have so much time on your hands to be worrying about what I’m doing, how about you go polish Striker Cleanup.”

Mizutani’s face shuttered to blankness, every line in his body gone taut. An ache of tension sang in the room silently between them. Then, Mizutani’s eyes closed, his fingers tight to whiteness on his biceps where he was still holding them. “Yeah, you’re right. Not my business.” He opened his eyes, and Izumi very carefully noticed that he didn’t even try to fake a smile. “Just… try to go to bed soon. The other mechanics are going to get worried if they never see you sleep, and I don’t wanna have to explain you to them.”

Mizutani pushed off the counter and walked out of the break room without looking over his shoulder again, and Izumi exhaled slowly. He looked back to his computer, then closed it. There was no way he’d be able to focus on what he needed to do anymore, and working without concentration was just asking for the worst kind of disaster.

Izumi pushed away from the table, laptop slipping perfectly under his arm. He turned off the light in the break room and stepped out into the empty hall. His bedroom was dark and empty when he walked inside, shutting the door behind him. He placed his laptop carefully on the small desk against the wall, then collapsed onto the bed. It was too soft, his pillow too soft, buying a new one too much effort. He kicked off his shoes without moving from where he was pronated, then exhaled into his pillow. His phone alarm clicked on with a deft few swipes of his fingers, and then he was closing his eyes into his pillow, forcing his body to relax.

As always, it took a long time for him to fall asleep. It always did, now, and he was smarter than to start the pills again. But when his alarm went off, he jerked awake, feeling slightly more miserable with the handful of sleep he’d gotten than he probably would have without it, but knowing that Mizutani was right and he definitely needed it.

It was a battle getting up from the bed that was still too soft but still enticing him to linger. He grabbed a change of clothes - pretty much the exact same as the ones he always wore: the undershirt, the cotton shirt, the overall, clean socks, boxers because he didn’t have enough of an ass to pull off boxer briefs like his brother - then walked down the hall to the communal showers all the mechanics shared. There were a couple of guys down by the sinks chattering as they shaved, but no one in the showers when Izumi stripped and got inside. By the time he came out, he was all alone.

Izumi shaved and brushed his teeth, then made a pit stop back in his room to drop off his dirty laundry and pull his shoes on. His laptop opened easily, and he opened his report to print off a copy of his report to P.P.D.C. before closing his laptop again. With one last lingering look at his bed, Izumi left his room, entered the break room to snag the copy of his report that had printed to the communal printer and a mug of coffee, then started for the elevators.

The Shatterdome was hardly busy this time of morning, especially since it had been a while since the last Kaiju attack. The repairs on Striker Cleanup were finished, and other than general maintenance, they were little more than beautiful reminders of the war everyone was fighting. He shot Big Windup a glance as he waited for one transport trolly to get the hell out of his path, then to the tarp over its shoulder. He hadn’t gotten official word back yet on Abe and Mihashi’s official team symbol, but it would probably come back with the comments on his report. He was a little more excited than he expected to see what it would look like, he realized, huffing out a shot of laughter as he meandered on his way.

It was a short elevator ride up to Shinooka’s office, and the hallways were as empty here as they had been near the mechanic’s quarters. Izumi took a sip of his coffee before stepping off the elevator, then turned down towards where Shinooka worked. He knocked a few times when he got to her door, taking another long sip of coffee that was promptly swallowed down the wrong pipe when the door opened and Momoe greeted him instead.

“Ah, Izumi-kun, good morning!” Momoe’s authoritative voice called, and Izumi coughed into his forearm, eyes watering a bit as he nodded before her sharp eyes.

“M-Morning, Marshal. I was looking for Shinooka to give her a copy of my report,” he explained. Momoe stepped aside, and Izumi looked in to see Shinooka sitting behind her desk, swamped with paperwork. “Hey, here’s my report. Figured you’d probably want a copy to summarize for Marshal.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks!” Shinooka said, smiling widely. “That’ll be great, actually. I had scheduled for me to come down this morning to talk to you about it, but I’ll use this instead.”

“Right…” Izumi said, very glad that he’d gotten his report in to her so she didn’t come knocking on his door to talk to him before he was completely conscious. Not that he didn’t love talking about Big Windup,  _but_. “Just let me know if you have any questions or anything, but it should be mostly self-explanatory. Or, uh, except for section three, which is specifics. That’s mostly jargon, so, yeah.”

Next to him, Momoe nodded approvingly. “This is excellent work, Izumi-kun. I’ve been very pleased with your work here, and I look forward to keeping you on for quite some time.”

Izumi swallowed another gulp of coffee, unable to hide his nervous grin. Someday he’d probably be able to breathe around her, he figured. But apparently not today. “Yeah, me too.” He looked over to Shinooka and gave her a half salute. “You’ve got my number if you have any questions.”

“Thanks, Izumi-kun!” Shinooka bid as he walked out of her office, the door shutting behind him and leaving him to stand in the hall with a heavy sigh. That was taken care of, then. He stretched out his arm so his sleeve pulled up his forearm a bit, exposing his old black sports watch. Definitely had time, he figured, a tendril of excitement wrapping around his stomach as he headed back to the elevators and hit the button for Nishihiro’s floor.

\----------

Abe opened his locker and stared at the electromyograph suit hanging in front of him with an odd mix of excitement and trepidation. His hand reached out and he took the fabric between his fingers, feeling each tiny wire that made it possible to Drift with Mihashi but at the kind of cost he’d never expected to pay.

“…Abe-kun?”

Abe looked over his shoulder and saw Mihashi standing there, shirt already off and hands resting on his half-undone belt. Golden eyes were wide and met his as soon as Abe looked. He stared at Mihashi for a moment, swallowing past the ghost memory of Mihashi’s scream the last time they’d Drifted. Mihashi was getting back into the Jaeger. So could he.

“I’m fine,” Abe finally said, turning back around and tugging off his clothes with purpose. He stepped into the electromyograph suit, plucking it into place carefully and feeling the material cling to his skin. Once it was settled around his waist, he turned around to see if Mihashi was waiting on him. Mihashi’s back was to him, broad-shouldered and muscles moving smoothly beneath pale skin. Abe blinked once, then turned around quickly to grab his cell phone, swallowing thickly. His pulse was way too fast for absolutely no good reason, he thought, scowling down at the alarm application and wondering if he could growl it into submission.

He felt Mihashi enter his personal bubble and turned, reaching out to press his palm against the blond’s just like they had every time, their fingers curling together in increasing familiarity. “Ready?” Abe asked, and Mihashi nodded, eyes closing. Abe stared for just a moment, taking in the way Mihashi’s lashes were like tiny half haloes on his cheekbones, and - and there were freckles there, just barely, so faint he’d have to be this close to see them. Feeling his heart rate increase again, Abe stubbornly hit the button on his alarm application for the countdown to start, then closed his eyes.

Immediately, he felt the way his pulse was hammering against Mihashi’s thumb, felt the way Mihashi’s fingers were so warm and gentle against his own despite the callouses there. Then, Mihashi’s thumb sweeping at his pulse, almost as if he was trying to calm Abe’s heart himself. Abe focused on Mihashi’s breathing, how each breath tickled his face, how he could pick up on the lemon in Mihashi’s water, how he could feel each motion of Mihashi’s lungs as surely as if they were his own. He tried to match his own breathing to Mihashi’s, to match the tempo, slow his own down despite the fact that his heart was still racing ahead, and just before the alarm went off, he finally reached the calm meditation zen where everything felt just fine, for thirty seconds.

“Let’s go,” Mihashi said softly, and Abe nodded, pulling his electromyograph suit fully into place, then helping Mihashi with his. He reached over and ran his finger along the back of the suit to check that it didn’t roll under like his other suit did, even though it was a custom fit and definitely wouldn’t do that. Sure enough, a sweep of his finger on the nape of Mihashi’s neck did little but cause the blond to turn pink, embarrassed that Abe was still having to check him, no doubt.

The armor went on smoothly, and then they were walking to LOCCENT, to the watchful eyes of Hamada and - and not Izumi, Abe thought bizarrely. Then again, he  _had_  mentioned that he preferred afternoons. The idiot was probably still asleep, Abe thought grumpily, looking to where Mihashi was talking excitedly to Hamada.

“Go on in, you two,” Hamada said, and they entered the Simulator with the kind of familiarity that should have come with more than a single drop and kill. Abe took his place at the left, standing still as the rig screwed into his armor and fell into place. He took the sensors with his hands, then looked over to where Mihashi was mirroring his actions perfectly. They weren’t even Drifting yet, Abe thought with a wry smile.

“Pitching,” Mihashi said, and Abe nodded even though he wasn’t sure if Mihashi was reminding him or himself.

“Pitching,” he repeated all the same, then closed his eyes. The countdown began, the feminine voice from the machine  _ten, nine, eight_ , and Abe began to focus on baseball, on pitching, on catching for Mihashi, the salt in the air when they were standing across from one another on the side of the base, the first time he’d reached a hand up to caress the fading chalk of Mihashi’s grid and thought  _he won’t need this anymore_ , the sunshine eyes of Mihashi Ren across from him, the pull of his leg when he rose into the windup, the movement of muscle Abe had seen on Mihashi’s naked back working beneath his shirt when his body contracted to throw the ball, each piece of movement from beginning to end.

The hiccup in the Drift, the familiar void when Abe was waiting for Mihashi to reach out first, the split second so small he could only subconsciously realize it happened, and then that same feeling as last time, the same warmth Abe got when they held hands to meditate except head to toe, the golden filigree shimmering inside his skull (  _\- soothing like water after a long hard game, just like how my heart always slows down when we’re touching, like a warm summer day at the lake -_ ) and Mihashi was in his head, he was in Mihashi’s, each inch between them as nothing.

( _\- is amazing, the best, this is how I want to feel forever, worth the pain -_ )

“Simulator starting,” Hamada called out, just barely audible over where Abe was enchanted with Mihashi’s thoughts in his head. He kept his eyes closed, waiting for the netting of the Pons System to drape over his mind. It came, surrounded him, filled all of the nooks Mihashi’s mind hadn’t already filled, and then it settled into place like a heavy blanket on his whole body. The weight was so slight, so unlike it had been in 144 Sprinter, hardly even there. Mihashi’s mind still sparkled beneath it ( -  _like when you go into a blanket fort with a flashlight and you can pretend there’s stars on the ceiling where the light comes through -_ ) and it took all of Abe’s concentration to open his eyes into the Simulation and not get caught  up in him.

They were just off the edge of the ocean, and Abe was still struck by the way he could feel the waves lapping at his calves through the Pons System. The rain struck his shoulders and chest as surely as if he was standing in the elements himself, the sensation of being wet while still being dry boggling. Across from him, a Kaiju stood, larger than their last - perhaps even a Category III. He glanced over to the summary to the left of his visual, and sure enough, it was a Category III. Codename Boulderfin.

( _\- small for a Category III -_ ) Definitely small, Abe thought, but deceptively so. He remembered the reports, how the Apocalypto Alpha and Gold Strike teams had taken it down. Thick armor, slow movements. A good match for them. ( - _since we’re kind of slow, too, and we can kill it before it gets to us, so we won’t get hurt -_ )

Abe grit his teeth as Boulderfin’s bulky mass started to move through the ocean towards them. It was small for a Category III, yes, but it was still a Category III. They’d have to take care of it before it got close enough to do any damage. If they got pinned beneath it, it wouldn’t be an easy battle to get back up again.

( -  _feet -_ )

Abe felt Mihashi’s suggestion in his head, and together, they activated the stabilizing foot spikes. They drove into the bottom of the ocean floor, and Big Windup’s right arm came forward, tripod swinging down to stabilize the shot. Abe looked over and saw Mihashi’s side of the photochromic display shift into one better designed for the long-distance shot he was trying to make. It was odd, having both the regular image display from his own eyes and the magnified one from Mihashi’s, but he let it sink into the back of his mind, let Mihashi take the lead since he was the better shot, anyway.

Mihashi lined up the crosshair, and Abe felt the moment they both clutched their right hand to pull the trigger. The first blast from the rifle caught Boulderfin right at the crease of its front arm and chest. The angry roar filled the cloudy sky, billowing out into the rain. A great shot, Abe thought, and then another - same spot, hopefully to pierce that thick skin, and -

( -  _got it!_ )Boulderfin collapsed down to the ground, and with one more shot, it was dead. With a small blip, the signal disappeared off their map, and Abe was free to exhale softly into his helmet. Then, just before his own delight could make itself known, Mihashi’s slammed into him as hard as a physical touch, as if the sun itself shot an arrow into his heart. ( -  _did it we did it second kill second drop Abe-kun you’re so amazing you let me do this you helped me do this I’m really here and you’re here with me -_ ) It stopped being words, then, just more impressions, moments of their hands pressed together and Mihashi watching Abe while they were working out, and something like - something Abe couldn’t describe, something amazing simmering beneath Mihashi’s skin like ambrosia, something that lingered long through each second between their Drift and Hamada’s call that they had succeeded yet again.

Abe reached up and pulled his helmet off, running a hand through sweaty hair even as he still continued to remember that rainbow emotion long after they couldn’t possibly be Drifting, into stepping away from the rig and towards where Mihashi was smiling at him as broadly and awesome as he had that first, real time. Mihashi’s hand reached out and clutched Abe’s armor, not bringing him any closer, but just resting there, firm and present.

“Amazing job, guys! Nice choice going with the rifle, there. That was pretty smart, especially with that whole,” Hamada paused, gesturing limply at their electromyograph suits, “y’know,  _pain_  thing you have going on.”

“Yeah… Probably the more Kaiju we can take out from a distance like that, the better off we’ll be,” Abe agreed, looking to Mihashi who looked sheepish. Abe already knew that whatever was going to come out of the blond’s mouth was going to be something stupid, but still, he knew he had to ask or Mihashi would just internalize whatever dumb thought was there. “What.”

“It’s just… you don’t think… I’m hogging it, do you?” Mihashi asked, hands wringing together. Abe blinked once, scowling as he tried to make sense of whatever nonsense Mihashi was surely thinking, and then it clicked into place. Mihashi was the one in charge of the rifle, after all.

Abe reached over and gripped Mihashi’s hair firmly enough so he could communicate that this was serious business. “That’s the stupidest thing I think I’ve ever heard you say.” Mihashi squawked, and Abe shook his head, gripping Mihashi’s bicep and tugging him back to get the armor removed so they could change. “No, seriously. What the hell?!  _Hogging_  the kill?”

“I - I mean.”

“No, no, no. Just no. Take that thought and shove it into whatever abyss of your brain it came out of.” Abe took a few more steps, then stopped and exhaled sharply when he figured that Mihashi probably couldn’t just  _do_  that. “Look, Mihashi. Can you pilot Big Windup by yourself?”

“N-No, of course not, that’s - !”

“And if I were to kill a Kaiju with the pincers, would you feel like I stole your kill?”

“…No.”

Abe slapped a hand on Mihashi’s shoulder, then started walking again. “See? What makes you think I’d feel that way about you, huh? If anything, I’m  _glad_  that you have the rifle, because you’re better at it, and the more Kaiju we can kill from a distance like that, the less often we’ll have to get hurt.” Mihashi didn’t respond, but he seemed placated enough for Abe.

The technicians removed their armor and then sent them back into the locker room, silence between them until Mihashi spoke up at last. “Are… Are your parents coming to the ceremony?”

They walked into the locker room, and Abe reached up to unzip his electromyograph suit. “Yeah, they’re both coming. Probably my brother, too. How about you? Isn’t your cousin graduating too?”

Mihashi’s face fell a little, but Abe suspected it was more because of his cousin than because of his parents. “Y-yeah, my mom is coming to see me graduate, and my dad is going to Musashino to see Ruri, since he’ll be close to there for work anyway.”

“Right,” Abe said, not expecting the pang from hearing Mihashi say the word ‘Musashino’ but definitely feeling it. He turned his back so Mihashi couldn’t see the scowl on his face and misconstrue it to be about him as he was wont to do. Instead, he focused on removing his electromyograph as carefully as he could, knowing that in his hands was one of the most expensive things he’d ever touched - and that was without adding in the no-doubt expensive rewiring costs that he couldn’t even  _begin_  to fathom.

When he finished undressing, he hung up the electromyograph suit in his locker, then pulled on his boxer briefs, pants, socks, and finally his undershirt. His shirt came last, tucked in and secured by his belt. By the time he turned around, slipping his phone into his pocket, Mihashi was right with him, reaching beneath the collar of his shirt to pull out his dog tags. They clinked together as they fell on his chest, and Abe nodded approvingly.

“Lunch?” Mihashi asked, and Abe opened his mouth to say yes before he shut it again, very aware of the weight of his phone in his pocket.

“No, I’ve got to go do something. You should eat with Tajima or Sakaeguchi,” he said.

Mihashi visibly deflated in front of him, drooping like a flower and mouth pinching downwards into a frown Abe might have almost called hurt if he didn’t know Mihashi. But, it kind of  _did_ look hurt, and there was a split second where he was about to tell him never mind, he would go, when Mihashi looked down to the side and said, “Okay. I’ll see you later.”

Abe watched as Mihashi reached down into his pocket and fished out his cell phone, turning down the hall and texting out a request to meet for lunch. He watched, watched until Mihashi’s figure disappeared down to the elevator, through the doors, watched until Mihashi looked up and their gazes locked for a single second before the door shut. Something inside him clenched guiltily, because the sudden realization that he’d blown off Mihashi for Haruna punched him in the gut like a fist. He  _hated_  it.

Pulling out his phone, Abe pulled up the texts Haruna had sent him, ordering for him to call. He stared down at them, glanced at the button to call, then sighed and closed his phone again. He couldn’t do it right now. Not when he was pretty sure he felt sick from the way Mihashi had left him, from whatever it was that had transpired when they’d met eyes across the hall. And then, Abe suddenly realized exactly what it was - that shimmering, rainbow feeling had carried from the Drift, and in a single instant, with a single breath, he’d killed it.

“Fuck,” he swore into the hall, under his breath but loud for the silence around him. His head fell back to his shoulders, eyes sliding closed as he wondered if he’d ever get anything right. He glanced down at his phone again, wondering if he should just - just  _do_  it, just call Haruna, get this over with, stop ruining things between him and Mihashi because of this asshole - but then, he found himself hearing Haruna’s voice in his mind, ‘ _I need you back, Takaya_ ’, and no. He couldn’t listen to that right now. He couldn’t. Not when it was still something he wanted to hear.

 _That_  thought had Abe’s blood boiling. This was stupid. This was - this was the most unproductive train of thought. He  _didn’t_  want Haruna. He wanted  _Mihashi_. And he  _had_  him, Drifted with him, roomed with him, fucking -  _lived_  with him, cooked with him. He had Mihashi. He didn’t need someone who didn’t need him back.

Abe knew himself well enough to know that he was certainly unfit for human contact, so he turned on his heel and headed straight for the elevator.  He pressed the button for his and Mihashi’s floor, then walked with purpose until he was in front of their door. His keys rattled noisily as he pulled them out and unlocked his way into their room. As soon as he was inside, he bee lined for his dresser and changed into his workout clothes. He took his phone and turned it off, then left their room and went straight for the stairs.

He climbed the flights until he was on the first floor, and then he followed the exit signs until at last, sea salty air brushed his face and sunlight so like Mihashi’s smile caressed his face. The thought fueled him even more, and Abe started running.

He ran, not really paying too much attention to where he was going, instead thinking  _left right left right left right_ , focusing on the asphalt beneath his shoes, the passing footsteps, each kilometer fueling his exercise as he burned off every last agonizing memory of Haruna’s shitty partnership. He ran, ran until his lungs were on fire, his legs screaming at him to stop, his throat parched and shirt clinging, soaked, to his skin. Then, he ran even further, ran until his legs were quivering and he had to sit down on the side of the road. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes as he focused on sucking in as much air as he could take, his blood pounding weakly through his veins and his head swimming on the edge of dizziness. Stupid, he thought. That had been stupid. No doubt he was dehydrated now, sweating and pushing himself on a workout without stretching out beforehand. It’d be a miracle if he didn’t hurt something.

Finally, Abe was able to breathe, and he looked up to see that he was still on post. The huge building of the main base wasn’t too far off, so he started walking on his jelly legs. He walked and walked, the base getting larger until he couldn’t hardly crane his neck back far enough to see the top as he disappeared into its shadow. It struck him then just how  _big_  Nishiura was, and the thought that Musashino was even bigger - that Touri, god  _Touri_  was  _twice_  the size as  _Musashino_  - he felt tiny. Tiny and just a piece of a puzzle. Just a piece, nothing without his partner. Nothing without  _Mihashi_.

Abe found the front door to the base and walked in, pulling out his wallet and flashing his identification card to the scanner by the door. It beeped green and let him in (Abe silently thanked himself for remembering to bring his wallet with him - the sheer humiliation if he’d had to call someone to let him in… No.), and Abe headed straight for the elevator. He wasn’t quite sure where he was, but the elevator had the correct floor on it for his and Mihashi’s room, she he pressed the button and decided to see where it took him.

He ended up on the right floor, on the far side of the hall from the elevator that they usually used. He walked down, past Tajima and Hanai’s room, past the vending machine they sometimes used, and then found their door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. He looked around, but Mihashi was nowhere to be seen.

Or at least, not until Abe approached his dresser and saw Mihashi lying on their couch, hands beneath his cheek as the blond curled into a nap. Abe paused, staring down at the blond’s sleeping face, the way his lips were parted just enough for puffy breaths to come out, fingers of his right hand twitching every once in a while - dreaming of baseball, Abe thought fondly. His chest felt too small for him, not too unlike outside when he’d run himself to exhaustion and been unable to breathe. He turned to his dresser, forcing himself to look away, and grabbed a towel.

Abe shut the bathroom door behind him before he turned on the shower, not wanting to wake Mihashi up from his nap. He’d been sleeping a lot lately, Abe thought, wondering if he was still having trouble sleeping at night for some reason, or if it was just the increased strain from their electromyograph suits making his brain tired. Whatever the cause, he clearly needed sleep, and Abe was going to give it to him.

His clothes landed messily into the laundry basket, down to where he had to peel off his sweaty socks. He then stepped into the hot shower, standing beneath the punishing heat before he turned it down enough to stand washing himself. He cleaned very inch of himself, shampooing his hair and sudsing up head to toe. He watched the foam disappear down the drain, watched it turn to clean water, and only then turned off the shower to step out. He dried off roughly, then wrapped the towel around his waist. He didn’t look into the mirror.

Abe stepped out of the shower and walked over to his dresser, just pulling on a pair of boxer briefs and sweatpants. He was too hot from his shower for a shirt, really. When he was dressed, he looked over to the couch to see that Mihashi was still sleeping, now on his back. Abe shook his head, feeling the smile cross his face, and walked over to where Mihashi’s feet were. He reached down, carefully picking them up so he didn’t wake Mihashi from his sleep, then sat down and lowered them into his lap. He reached for the remote and turned the television on, keeping the volume as low as it could go while he could still hear it.

He flipped through the channels until he found what looked like an old Godzilla movie. They’d had a resurgence in popularity after the Kaiju had come, and Abe remembered the short period where there had even been accusations that Godzilla had  _been_  a Kaiju and the coverup story was turned into a movie. Ridiculous, of course, because Godzilla hadn’t bled blue, but still a funny article. Abe remembered his brother reading it aloud at their breakfast table, way back when they were in middle school. It would be good to see his family again, Abe thought mindlessly, watching Godzilla stomp around Tokyo.

He realized after a while that his hands were still resting on Mihashi’s legs, his fingers slowly working the muscles of the calves beneath them in a gentle massaging caress. He paused, feeling his face warm up a bit, then shrugged it off. It wouldn’t do either of them any good if Mihashi’s legs cramped up. A massage couldn’t hurt. He turned his attentions back to the movie.

He wasn’t sure at what point he’d fallen asleep, but Abe found himself waking up from a doze when there was movement in his lap. He opened his mouth and slurred out a half-awake, “Mihashi?”

There was a squawk that filled the air of their room, and a hard thump. Abe jerked awake at the sound, eyes opening to find Mihashi lying on the ground in a pile of limbs, face burning bright red as he peered up at Abe. Abe stared back, and then realized that Mihashi had probably been trying to get up without waking him. He caught the first laugh with a bite of his teeth against his lower lip, but he couldn’t stop the rest, and before he knew it, he was laughing outright at Mihashi’s pitiful predicament.

“I had to pee,” Mihashi mumbled, though Abe could see that he was smiling as well, bashful and filled with brightness. “Um, after I’m finished, do you want to get some dinner? Since you didn’t have lunch.”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” Abe agreed, and Mihashi stood from where he’d been piled on himself on the floor, then headed into the bathroom. Abe straightened, stretching out his spine with a few pops of his joints, then headed to the dresser to get changed. It was only when he was stepping into a pair of pants that he wondered how Mihashi had known he hadn’t eaten. He shook it off, though, because his stomach picked that moment to growl loudly into the room. He’d probably been doing that for a while, and Mihashi had guessed from that he hadn’t eaten.

By the time Mihashi came out, Abe was dressed and ready to go. They walked out of the room together, locking the door and then heading for the elevator. Mihashi pressed the button to call it down, and they waited in silence for the machine to arrive. The doors slid open, and Mihashi stepped in first, pressing the button for the cafeteria and watching as Abe filed in after him. Abe smothered his smile at how happy it made Mihashi to be the one to press the buttons, because it was - well,  _cute._

When the elevator door opened, the smell of food wafted down the hall to greet them. Abe inhaled deeply then stepped out, beyond ready to get some food. It had been beyond stupid to go for such a hard workout without food, even if it had cleansed his mind perfectly from all the poisonous thoughts that had swarmed him earlier. He flashed his identification card to get scanned eagerly, then headed off to pile up his tray.

By the time he was satisfied that he had enough carbs and protein, he turned and saw Mihashi sitting at the table with Izumi and someone he didn’t recognize. Tall and gangly, with cheekbones that looked like they could probably kill a man. He followed Mihashi’s lead and took the seat across from the guy, watching as Izumi nodded through a mouth full of food.

“Nishihiro, this is Abe Takaya, the other pilot for Big Windup. Abe, this is Nishihiro, resident nerdy scientist,” Izumi introduced, and Abe watched with delight as Nishihiro reached over to pinch Izumi firmly.

“I’m researching the Kaiju activity, specifically. It’s nice to meet you, Abe,” Nishihiro greeted, and Abe nodded, too busy shoving his mouth full of rice to really be social at the moment. “Izumi was telling me all about the difficulties you two were having. It’s good to see that it finally worked out for you!”

Mihashi made a happy chirpy noise next to him, and Abe let the sound speak for the warmth in his chest as well. “We - ! We worked really hard, so - !” Mihashi said, and Nishihiro’s smile and subsequent head tilt was positively beatific. This guy had no business hanging out with the likes of Izumi, Abe thought, looking over to where Izumi was - oh, Izumi was grinning stupidly at him, not looking all blasé or shitty like he usually did. Maybe it was good for him after all, Abe revised.

“So, your parents coming tomorrow?” Izumi asked, and Abe nodded.

“Yeah, parents and my little brother. Look out for that one - he’s a trouble maker.”

“Just my mom, for me,” Mihashi said. “My dad is going to go to Musashino for when my cousin Ruri graduates in a few days.”

Izumi scowled. “He can’t make it to both?”

Mihashi wiggled unpleasantly in his seat. “N-No, because he has to take off work, so…”

Izumi made an unhappy noise, and Abe one hundred percent agreed but didn’t say anything. It was Mihashi’s business, after all, and he’d get more than enough attention from Abe’s parents to miss his own too much.

They finished eating and then returned to their room in the same silence they’d had all afternoon, peaceful and surprising considering whatever it was that had happened right after their Drift. It lasted until Abe turned the light off and crawled into bed, grabbing his phone to set his alarm for the award ceremony the next morning.

“Tomorrow, we’re gonna be official copilots,” Mihashi said in an awe-filled voice. It was the best thing Abe had ever heard.

“Yeah,” he agreed. His mouth was too full of everything else to say any of it. “Goodnight, Mihashi.”

“Night.”

\----------

As expected, the ceremony was a shit show.

Abe woke early that morning and got dressed appropriately in his suit, prodding Mihashi when the blond groaned his way through their alarm. Mihashi made indignant noises all the way to the shower, though he was bright-eyed by the time he got out. He got dressed in his own suit, and Abe found the back of his neck burning when he reached out to straighten Mihashi’s slightly crooked tie.

“You look good,” he said, and Mihashi’s smile about blinded him.

“Abe-kun looks good too,” Mihashi responded. Abe swallowed thickly and cleared his throat as he pointed to their door.

“We should, uh, go get our parents,” he said intelligently, and Mihashi nodded, leading the way out the door.

The walk up to the entrance of the base was a short one, and Abe was relieved to see that his parents and brother were already there, talking to someone who had the same hair as Mihashi. His mother, he guessed, then was proven correctly when the woman scooped Mihashi into a hug. Abe disappeared into his own mother’s arms, and he hugged her back fiercely, biting back the burning of his eyes.

“Hey, baby,” she whispered into his ear, and that almost ruined what tiny bit of strength he had. She pulled back just in time though, cupping her hands over his face and staring it. “Oh, you’ve gotten so buff. You’d be so good around the house, now!”

“Hey, I’m good around the house,” Shun protested, walking over and gripping Abe’s sleeves. “Taka, you should see the shed I built for Mom! I put all our baseball stuff in it, and the yard stuff, and it’s totally the best shed!”

“I’m not sure I want my stuff in your shed,” Abe teased, watching as Shun made a scandalized face before pulling him in, arm around Shun’s neck as he ruffled up his brother’s hair. Shun protested, trying to wiggle away, but Abe’s mother was right - Abe had definitely gotten strong, and it wasn’t until she rolled up a magazine and smacked Abe on the head with it that he let go.

“Behave you two!” she chastised lightly. Abe grinned roguishly, then looked over to his father and stood a little straighter.

“Hey, Dad,” he greeted, and his father stepped forward, hugging Abe carefully.

“Son, looking good,” he said, stepping back and patting him on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah,” Abe agreed, then looked over to see Mihashi hovering at the periphery, next to his mother as the both of them watched their family meet. “Oh, this is Mihashi Ren, my copilot. And his mother.”

“Um, hello, nice to meet you, I’m - Uh, Abe-kun said my name, already, but I’m Mihashi Ren,” Mihashi greeted, just as Mihashi’s mother slapped him in the back and pushed him forward. Mihashi tumbled into a step closer, face and ears burning bright red and eyes locked onto the ground. “N-Nice! To meet you!”

“Oh no, he’s so cute,” Abe’s mother gasped, hand over her mouth, and she then bowed quickly at Mihashi’s mother. “I’m so sorry your son has to put up with Taka. I know he’s difficult.”

“Hey - !”

“Please, no! My son as well!”

“M- _Mom!_ ”

Abe and Mihashi looked at each other with horror as their mothers stood close together, chatting at the speed of light, until in perfect harmony, they swooped over and ganged up on Mihashi. “So, Ren-kun, Taka has told me all about your cooking!”

Abe made a strangled noise. “Y-You’re exaggerating!”

“I’ve been looking forward to this breakfast ever since he couldn’t stop waxing poetic about it!” she continued, absolutely ignoring his protest. Abe felt his face flare up, and for the life of him, he couldn’t bare to look at Mihashi. But he did hear the soft pleased noises the blond made, then the soft offer to make breakfast that was met with utter delight. Abe was glad, because it  _finally_ had them moving towards their room, chattering noisily down the hall the entire way there. Abe shot his mother a look while they were on their way, and she shrugged. “You mentioning it at all is the same thing.”

“Unbelievable,” Abe muttered, feeling his face get even hotter.

By the time Mihashi made breakfast for everyone and the poor blond all but perished under the weight of the compliments from the Abe family, it was time for them to head down to the Shatterdome for the ceremony. Abe looked at Mihashi, finally, and the lightness from the morning shifted into the more weighty reason why their families were here in the first place. Mihashi nodded, and Abe lead the way down to the elevator. As soon as everyone was stuffed inside, Mihashi pressed the button for the correct floor, and they were off.

Abe and Mihashi separated away from their families as they took seat at one of the many round tables covered with pretty white tablecloths. Abe and Mihashi went up to the portable stage to sit next to Shinooka, who waved them up with a bright grin.

“Are you two ready?” she asked, and Abe nodded while Mihashi croaked out some kind of noise Abe somehow knew was a confirmation. Shinooka squinted at him, and Abe sighed, nodding for him as well.

Momoe came in after a few minutes, stepping up onto the stage. She looked even more powerful than usual in her official uniform, her breast decorated with more awards than Abe knew the meaning of. Some he did recognize - Jaeger pilot, combat injury, command - and some he didn’t, like the tiny golden star by itself beneath a purple ribbon. He made a mental note to ask Shinooka if she knew.

“Thank you all for coming today,” Momoe began after the small crowd fell to hush. Abe swallowed when he saw the number of reporters already present, their cameras flashing prettily. That never got comfortable. “Piloting a Jaeger is not easy. It takes the strength of an army, the intelligence of a computer, the battle skill of a general, and the tenacity of a mountain - and it takes two people, with these skills, two people that are close enough to share the same mind while being all of these things.”

Abe snuck a look to Mihashi to see him staring, wide-eyed, at Momoe. Golden eyes then flicked over to meet his, and there was a soft, secret smile on his face that Abe couldn’t help but return before looking back to Momoe.

“Today, Nishiura is pleased to announce the official designation of the newest of the Mark IV lineup, codename Big Windup, and its two pilots, Mihashi Ren and Abe Takaya.” There was applause at that, and Abe looked out to see mostly unfamiliar faces, but also a few that he did know - Izumi in the back, Nishihiro, Sakaeguchi, and Hanai and Tajima, who was hooting and generally making an ass of himself from the back of the audience. “They’ve worked very hard to get to this point, and their astronomical results reflect that effort. It is my pleasure to officially assign Team Big Windup, Mihashi Ren and Abe Takaya, to this base.”

Momoe stepped away from the podium and looked at the two of them with pride clear in her eyes. Abe stood when she nodded, and when Shinooka came forward with her hands holding two small blue boxes, he swallowed thickly. Momoe opened the boxes and revealed the Big Windup pin - a brick wall with a Kaiju skull impacting the mortar, but not breaking through. An impenetrable defense.

Abe stood straight as Momoe pinned the symbol to his suit, and then Abe looked over to where Mihashi’s chest was decorated the same. Then, Shinooka turned and walked over to a small table covered with a blue cloth, and when she returned, she had two jackets in her hands - on the back, emblazoned beneath their team symbol, was their designation -  _Big Windup._  He pulled it on, slipping his arms through the warm fabric and then looking to Mihashi. Golden eyes, red-rimmed and filled to the brink of tears, met his, and the smile matching them was absolutely blinding.

“Congratulations, Team Big Windup. I look forward to seeing you help us end this war.” The audience stood for its final applause, and Abe felt a tight warmth around his left hand. He didn’t even need to look to see that it was Mihashi’s hand, tightly grasping his own. By now, he knew the pressure well enough to recognize it in his sleep, probably.

Finally, the applause died down, and Abe looked out to the sea of reporters, knowing that he was going to have to answer questions before he could slip away to spend time with his family. He sighed, then looked down to Mihashi who was positively  _glowing_. Out of the corner of his eyes, Abe saw his parents and brother coming closer, and his heart warmed with the closeness of everyone important to him in his space.

“Ready?” he asked Mihashi, who looked at him and opened his mouth to respond.

Whatever words he said were lost beneath the shrill of an alarm. The room stilled as even the flashing cameras of the reporters came to a stop. Abe looked over to his family, paralyzed, as his stomach dropped to the floor.

A Kaiju was coming.


	22. cross

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you _everyone_ for being like, disgustingly understanding about how long this took to update?? there are reasons but i won't go into them here bc HOPEFULLY THEY WON'T MATTER ANYMORE!! other than lingering issues with wrist tendinitis that slow my updates down, we should be back to a mostly normal schedule now.
> 
> anyway enough about that, right? i come bearing many gifts:  
> averyboneygirl - [some cool doodles](http://averyboneygirl.tumblr.com/post/134319671104/i-am-so-emotional-about-break-on-the-willow-shore)  
> seasaltinecrackers - [sadie with more of those *AMAZING* sketches she spoils me with](http://seasaltinecrackers.tumblr.com/post/123446918155/so-like-botws-updated),  
> [enough angst to shake a stick at](http://seasaltinecrackers.tumblr.com/post/116363026055/hi-this-is-super-big-and-rly-lazy-i-did-this-in), [even MORE DOODLES AAA](http://seasaltinecrackers.tumblr.com/post/116537511200/more-oofuri-pacrim-doodles)  
> sukekou - [the beautiful and most charming jill gifting us with abemiha snuggles](http://sukekou.tumblr.com/post/116336017267/botws-stuff-lmao)  
> loser-meganes - [a wicked cool looking abemiha pic omg](http://ficteer.tumblr.com/post/116423704655)
> 
> please drop them a line and thank them for sharing their gifts with us! also you just really don't wanna miss out HEH
> 
> speaking of outside gifts, there is a bit of bonus material with this chapter at the end. don't open it until you're finished with the chapter or else you'll spoil yourself something fierce!
> 
> on that note, please enjoy! 8)

The alarm was a piercing screech in Abe’s ears, filling the Shatterdome and rebounding in the silence of a crowd too shocked to do anything. His eyes locked with his mother’s, watched them, eyes that were wide and not yet full of fear. A second of suspension, a heartbeat; and then he saw it. He saw the moment it registered for her, felt the grip of iron ice in his gut when it registered for him.

_Kaiju._

The screaming started between one breath and the next, pandemonium one step away from birth. Momoe’s knuckles gripped the sides of the podium tightly as she leaned towards the microphone to be heard over the din of the ceremony’s slain excitement.

“ _Remain calm_!” she barked, voice with just enough edge to demand attention. The voice of a Marshal. At her shout, a crowd of eyes turned to her, desperate for instruction. Her voice dropped in volume, but the edge of command remained. “Everyone, remain where you are. Fretting about the base will only cause chaos. We must function with certainty. Shinooka will stay here and provide communication until the crisis passes. Thank you.”

Turning away from the microphone, Momoe took wide strides to come to stand in front of where Shinooka was still lingering next to Abe. Shinooka’s thin fingers were scrolling over the tablet clutched in her hands, and when she found what she was looking for, Abe knew the news wasn’t good from the pull of her mouth to a thin line. “The projected path is straight to our jurisdiction, Marshal,” Shinooka said, voice loud enough to be heard in their circle but not so loud as to be heard by the civilians. Abe glanced out to where his father’s hand was firm on his mother’s shoulder, and edged slightly to the right to make sure Shinooka’s mouth or her dim expression couldn’t be seen by the crowd.

“Are we on?” Tajima said, bounding up the portable steps to complete the circle, Hanai just at his elbow. Momoe’s face was carefully devoid of the grim expression Abe had expected, the expression he could feel on his own face. It was exactly the face the crowd behind him didn’t need to see. He forced it into something more neutral and relaxed his body, because even if his back was to his parents, he knew his mother at least could read a novel in the line of his shoulders. A lifetime of watching it during baseball games had certainly provided her the skill.

“Yes,” Momoe responded to Tajima, eyes cutting to Shinooka as she continued. “Stay here on the stage. I’ll be in contact with you if we need to, but your primary job right now is to keep the civilians contained and calm. If they stay on this side of the Shatterdome, they shouldn’t get in the way. Call in the security to keep things detained if you need to, but try to keep it as demilitarized as possible. It’ll only cause more panic.”

“Understood,” Shinooka said, straightening and then spinning on her heel to get closer to where the civilians were reluctantly taking their seats. Abe fought the urge to turn around and check on his family. There was no point, no comfort for him to give nor find, no facial expression he could make nor any he could bear to see. The best thing he could do right now was do exactly as Momoe ordered. Instead, he watched as Momoe looked out over the crowd and nodded once, then again. Sakaeguchi and Suyama stood from their chairs, jogging towards where the Jumphawks were waiting. Mizutani clapped a hand on Izumi’s thigh before standing and heading towards the Jaeger holding bay, leaving Izumi to jump up behind him in more motion than Abe had ever seen from his lethargic friend.

“All right. Come on, boys,” Momoe said as soon as she was apparently confident that the word was spreading that Nishiura was up to bat. Abe followed obediently, noticing for the first time that many of the reporters were taking pictures even more than they had during the ceremony, some interviewing the civilians still lingering about. It was odd, now that he thought about it, that Hamada hadn’t come to see his childhood friend Mihashi become an official Jaeger pilot, but now - now he understood. Not to have LOCCENT in position right now, starting all systems up in time for them to get the reading - it would have been a nightmare.

As soon as they got into the hallway, Momoe pressed the button for the main elevator. It came noisily, doors sliding open and letting the five of them step on. As soon as the doors shut, Momoe pressed two buttons - one for LOCCENT, and the second for the Jaeger deployment area. The two numbers became encircled with red, and Abe traced the circles of color with his eyes to give him something to look at besides Mihashi’s face, or his own in the metal reflection.

Finally, the screen embedded in the wall next to them flickered to information beyond the red flashing Kaiju alert symbol. Mihashi peeked around him, fingers tight in Abe’s jacket, as the both of them looked to see what was in store. Abe blinked once when he saw the size, then twice, and then, only once the information had registered, did he feel that same icy grip on his stomach that had the blood in his veins all but turning to slush. It reminded him of the civilians in the Shatterdome, too shocked from what was going on to be feel until the weight in his gut caught up with his brain.

“Category IV,” Hanai said into the elevator, voice barely above a breathy whisper. Mihashi’s grip tightened on Abe’s jacket, body pressing close enough so Abe could feel him quivering. “Our first ever.”

“It’s fast, too,” Tajima said flatly, eyes wide and face neutral on the screen. “Look at the map. It’ll be here in ten minutes, easy.”

“Abe-kun, Mihashi-kun, you will be deploying in Big Windup along with Striker Cleanup,” Momoe said, face focused forwards and eyes not looking at any of them, and Abe felt his spine solidify to steel.

“Understood,” he said, because there was nothing else _to_ say.

Mihashi nodded once, curtly, eyes wide and face pale but firm and solid. Abe had the frozen determination in his veins, and he knew exactly what Mihashi was thinking: that this was what he’d worked so hard for, exactly what he’d been fighting for; this moment, knowing that within minutes, he was going to step into Abe’s brain and that the two of them were going to fight - not just for their safety, not even for his family, left in the Shatterdome on a day that was supposed to be so filled with joy. They were going to fight for the _world_.

Abe took a second look at the screen, now that he knew the Kaiju displayed on it was going to be an opponent. As Hanai had confirmed, it was the largest yet. Codename Sasori, Category IV, coming in a hair shy of 90 meters tall, just over three tons. And Tajima was also right - it was _fast, jesus_ but it was fast - the fact that it had six legs, three on each side, clearly not keeping it from being anything less than perfectly hydrodynamic as it swam closer. There was a long tail trailing behind it, coming to a point in a spade. Whether it was part of a swimming function or had a battle function, they’d shortly see.

The elevator stopped, and Abe followed behind Tajima and Hanai down the hall. Momoe remained inside to go up to LOCCENT, and Mihashi was just at his side, visible in the corner of his eye. Abe didn’t need the visual contact to know he was there. He could feel the air between them, vibrating and anxious. The breath in his lungs was almost still despite the thundering of his heart.

He was scared. _He_ was scared, and he’d been in a Jaeger hundreds of times. He’d fought a Kaiju. He’d _won._ He had no _idea_ how petrified Mihashi had to be. Reaching over, he moved to thread his fingers through Mihashi’s. They were stiff, but as soon as Abe’s touch registered, Mihashi uncoiled his fist and allowed Abe to squeeze them tightly once before dropping the touch and bringing his hand back to his side. It wasn’t much, but it was all he knew to give.

The four of them got to the split in the hallway a few long strides later. Abe had never been here, not in Nishiura, but it wasn’t too different from the setup at Musashino. To the right, there was a hall meandering down to a set of double doors featuring Striker Cleanup’s team logo. To the left, surprisingly, he saw the logo for Big Windup, the Kaiju skull cracking into a brick wall in perfectly new paint. He half wondered if it was still wet for how green their team was.

“Mihashi!” Tajima called out when Abe started to turn to the left. Abe paused, looking over his shoulder as Tajima flashed Mihashi a thumb’s up and a bright grin. “Race ya to the kill!”

Hanai reached over and clipped Tajima at the back of his head, gripping his copilot’s collar and dragging him to the door. Abe looked to Mihashi, not sure if he was expecting him to look calmed by Tajima’s words or just positively ill. He was neither, settling somewhere between in a sort of hazy fog, like he couldn’t quite grasp the fact that he was here.

“Come on, we’ve gotta hurry,” Abe urged, partially because it was true, but mostly to get Mihashi’s mind out of its shell and into a task. Mihashi nodded, not looking at Abe, just turning from where he’d looked to Tajima and focusing instead on the door ahead of them.

They passed through the gaping door featuring their logo and into a much smaller locker room than the mirror downstairs outside the Simulator. Abe stripped quickly, opening the metal door featuring his name and ‘Big Windup’ printed in bold letters. Inside, he found an electromyograph suit, an exact copy of the one downstairs. He grabbed it and tugged it on over his legs, up to his hips, and halfway up his gut before there was a soft touch at his side.

“Just for a few seconds?” Mihashi asked in a tiny voice, fingertips like snowflakes on Abe’s goose bump-birthing skin. Abe blinked down at his copilot, and then it clicked. He nodded, holding up his hand so it was perpendicular to the floor. Mihashi pressed his own against it, and Abe immediately felt the difference in the warmth of their palms. _His hand was colder._

“Oh,” Mihashi gasped, staring at the place where their palms met. Somehow, that was enough for Abe to smile.

“See? I’m nervous, too,” Abe said. Mihashi didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just nodded, then threaded their fingers together. Golden eyes lifted to meet Abe’s for the first time since their deployment had been announced, and in them, Abe saw their fighting chance.

“Let’s go get our first kill,” Mihashi said, hand tightening to pain. Abe took the sensation and buried it inside his mind, held onto it, savored it. Kept it for later.

“Yeah!” Abe responded through a grin Mihashi didn’t share. Mihashi released their grip, and Abe zipped up the front of his suit after wiggling his fingers into place so he could help tuck Mihashi into his.

As soon as they were both suited up, they passed through the sliding doors into the armor room. Unlike the locker room, which had been smaller than its Simulator counterpart, the armor room upstairs was generations above the technology beneath it. The technicians were smoother, drilling Abe’s guards into place with motions so fluid it was almost like they were dancing. They were discussing the suit amongst themselves as they put everything into place, not even needing to fuss anything around to get it into place. Then, Abe recognized one as the female that had been the technician to measure him for the suit in the first place, and he wondered if maybe this was the team that had crafted it.

Finally, Abe pulled on his helmet. It was still lighter than what his muscle memory expected from 144 Sprinter, the plastic thinner and the relay gel even more viscous than he always anticipated. But it filtered out just as it did in the Simulator, leaving him to step into the boots before him so that he was completely suited up and ready to take his place in Big Windup’s cockpit.

He looked over to Mihashi just in time to see Mihashi looking to him. There were a thousand words on the tip of his tongue - encouragement, warning, a reminder to stick to their training - but he saw each of them pass through Mihashi’s gaze and knew that speaking them aloud was unnecessary. It was bizarre, almost the same certainty that came with the Drift. Mihashi knew exactly what he was thinking without him needing to spell it out, was thinking the same thing himself, and that brought a smile to his face and a tranquility to his heart. This time, Mihashi’s lips matched his own. With that small certainty in his grasp, he turned in concert with his copilot and marched to their departure bay.

Big Windup’s cockpit was hanging, secured at the end of a short platform suspended far above the body of their Jaeger. The drop tunnel was loud with the sounds of the Shatterdome beneath them; the alarm had long stopped, but the noises of war were anything but quiet. It was a bit unnerving, but Abe focused on the two technicians holding open the door to Big Windup’s cockpit, stepping inside his and Mihashi’s Jaeger for the first time.

The inside wasn’t different enough from 144 Sprinter for him to need to take any time orienting himself. He moved into place on the left side of Big Windup’s rig without hesitation, boots clicking into place. The tug in his back armor came next as the rig secured itself against him. He exhaled, more than a little awed at the amazing technology and still remembering the locking mechanism of 144 Sprinter at his wrists, keeping him more secure but also limiting his motions more than it felt like Big Windup was going to do, and the handheld controller that had once been his only connection to the fight, now built into the palm of his electromyograph suit. Next to him, Mihashi was doing everything the same, mirroring his motions as poetically as if they were already Drifting.

“Hey, guys,” Hamada said as soon as they were in place. “Normally you’d already be comfortable with this process before this was a real deal, but, uh, I guess we’ll have to save the champagne breaking for next time.”

Abe reached up and pressed the button to open the line. “How far out is the Kaiju?”

“Minutes. It’s going to be tight, but Striker Cleanup should make it right at the edge of the Miracle Mile. Meanwhile, you two have orders to hang by the base. This is a real fight, don’t doubt it, but Marshal is putting you out more to get a taste of Big Windup than to do something against the Kaiju.” Abe swallowed nervously, but he did have to admit that made him feel better than he would like to say. He and Mihashi were good, _great_ even, but to throw themselves into battle when they’d had, what, two good simulated drops? “All right, boys. Preparing to drop.”

Abe relaxed his body as he heard Hamada announce Marshal Momoe’s presence on deck, then the securing of their comm pod into place before announcing the drop. Next to him, Mihashi’s eyes followed the motions on one of their many notification screens of the locking mechanism completing its motions, then reached up to press the comm button. “Big Windup, ready for drop.”

There was the space of a second before the drop, then Abe’s stomach twisting with the vertigo of their comm pod falling several stories down to the Jaeger body below. His body jerked with the sudden movement, but he kept his knees soft to account for the landing. Mihashi’s surprised squawk next to him reminded him that the Simulator didn’t cover _this_ part of the sequence, and he’d probably not really had much of an idea that it was going to happen beyond reading about the protocol.

A few seconds later, the comm pod fell into place on Big Windup’s shoulders with a lurch. Abe felt the distant motion of their comm pod screwing into place to the sounds of the metal working into place. Hamada’s voice came over the intercom again, a simple narrated update of, “Coupling confirmed, Marshal,” before the loading notification for the pilot-to-pilot protocol popped onto their main screen.

“Engaging pilot-to-pilot protocol sequence,” the feminine voice of Big Windup’s A.I. announced, unknowingly striking on the closest Abe felt to a nervous panic attack since he’d heard Mihashi had Drifted with Tajima. This was _real_. This was the absolute test, the one thing that had been their biggest hurdle. They’d beaten it before, but this - _this_ was completely different from the Simulator. This was absolutely _terrifying_.

“Ready and aligned,” Abe announced to Mihashi, who relayed the information to LOCCENT over the comm. While his heart pounded in his throat, he felt the slight motion of Big Windup being transported slowly out of the Shatterdome through the bay doors. He knew his parents and Shun were watching, knew that all of the reporters were no doubt close to running out of space on their memory cards with all the pictures they were taking. He felt the anxiety crush into his chest, almost too big for him to believe it was all coming from himself, but he shoved it out and replaced it with every inch of the training he’d pounded into his body, second by second, inch by inch.

“Abe-kun, Mihashi-kun, this is Marshal Momoe,” came Momoe’s announcement. She was unmistakable for anyone else, the calm authority in her voice alone giving her away, but Abe found himself comforted by the regulation script. “Prepare for neural handshake.”

“Neural handshake in fifteen,” Hamada said, but Abe was suddenly stricken with a need, _need_ to look at Mihashi.

Their eyes met over the distance between them, close enough that if he wanted to he could reach out and their fingers would mingle if Mihashi did the same. But he didn’t move, just stared into twin suns of reassurance Mihashi had no business giving, not when Abe was the one with more experience, not when Abe was the one who had done this before, not when Abe was the one who had kept them both upright in the elevator. But it was happening all the same, just as it had happened in the locker room when Mihashi had been the one with warm hands. Here, in the Jaeger, Mihashi was the main pilot, and he - he wore it _so_ well, Abe realized, throat thick and face tight with emotion.

“Pitching,” Mihashi whispered, and Abe nodded, letting his eyes flutter shut beneath the imagined warmth of a golden sky. He didn’t even hear the A.I. announce that the neural handshake was initiated, barely felt the moment when there was his brain and then his brain and the golden filigree he was beginning to recognize was Mihashi’s thoughts encircling his own like a delicate foil. It was so smooth, the transition between _before the Drift_ and _Drifting_ , barely enough time for him to feel the hiccup of a headlong jump into Big Windup’s Pons before it was over. He blinked into the weightless press of _MihashiMihashiMihashi_ , a fuzzy warmth of intimate closeness like a handprint on a glass shower door, ( _AbeAbeAbeAbe Yes, I’m here_ , _I’m here, Abe-kun_ ), and Abe was _stunned_.

He and Mihashi were Drifting and he’d hardly even felt it happen.

He couldn’t even feel who it was that remembered that they were supposed to be doing something _besides_ reveling in just how _good_ it felt to Drift, just that the thought appeared as organically in his mind as if it was his own. Mihashi lifted his right arm, and Abe did as well, Mihashi’s, “Right hemisphere, calibrating,” much more confident-sounding than Abe had expected. It vibrated within his mind, within his chest, made him shiver with a hummingbird delight.

“Left hemisphere, calibrating,” Abe echoed, moving his arms up to his chest to check that their Drift was as strong as it needed to be. There was hardly a need; he couldn’t even register any lag between the both of them and Big Windup, let alone the two of them together. It was as flawless as a Drift as he’d read was possible - more than anything he’d ever _dreamed_ he’d experience. Their calibrations passed with even better than flying colors, he knew - their scores were undoubtedly _soaring_.

“Excellent. Now, your orders are to hold at Nishiura and monitor the fight between Striker Cleanup and the Kaiju Codenamed Sasori,” Momoe said, confirming what Hamada had already told them. “Striker Cleanup is going to handle the fight itself, and you are to learn as much as you can from the fight as well as get acclimated to Big Windup. Copy that?”

Mihashi reached up and pressed the communication button. “Copy. We’ll maneuver to stand by the Striker Cleanup bay for the sightline of the Miracle Mile.”

“Confirmed,” Momoe said, then, “Good luck, boys.”

Abe exhaled slowly out of his mouth, watching the screen in front of him as the Jumphawks flew with a brief roar over Big Windup’s head. The six of them veered out towards the Miracle Mile, where Striker Cleanup was beginning to take its march to meet Sasori off the coast. Then, in the Drift between them, they agreed to start walking to get into place.

Big Windup moved much more smoothly beneath him than 144 Sprinter. The Mark III line had been leaps and bounds above the Mark II, undoubtedly, but this machine was a _dream_. He felt almost like it would follow every single move he made, head to toe.

( _It feels different than before,_ ) Mihashi’s thought came, less words and more an impression. ( _For me and for you._ ) Abe sent back a feeling of agreeing, and thought back to the hard work his legs had been subjected to in order to get 144 Sprinter going. Abe felt his nose wrinkle in distaste before realizing that it wasn’t his nose, but Mihashi’s.

With a few steps around the blockade, the two of them came to a stop just outside Striker Cleanup’s bay. The cloudless afternoon gave them a sightline beautifully long, all the way to Striker Cleanup’s back half a mile gone. Abe reached a hand up to press the communication button and open a line to LOCCENT. “Big Windup, in position.”

“Copy that. Striker Cleanup due to make contact in approximately two minutes. Be ready to observe the battle fully. Take good notes, boys,” Hamada said with just enough teasing in his voice to reveal that it was forced. Abe didn’t blame him; it was in the guy’s nature to use the humor to deflect the seriousness of the situation, even if it really, _really_ wasn’t working.

Ten seconds passed, then another ten, and Abe blinked at the view screen as carefully as Mihashi did. Striker Cleanup was still moving, not quite to the borderline of the Miracle Mile, not quite in place. Hamada had been right; if Tajima and Hanai did make it to the edge of the Miracle Mile in time to intercept the Kaiju, it would be just barely. No time to breathe before the battle.

Hanai and Tajima seemed to have the same thought, as Abe watched Striker Cleanup’s lean metallic arms reach behind it for its weighted bat. Almost seventeen tons of blunt force, Abe knew, though it was shit for Kajiu Blue containment. He and Mihashi would have much better scores for that in the Simulator, if only because of the cauterizing effect of their plasma rifle. They’d -

Mihashi’s choked off sound at the sight of a Kaiju emerging from the ocean cut off his thought as effectively as a hand against his mouth, but the jump in his own pulse was equally a cause. The Kaiju stood on all six of its legs, ready to -

The Kaiju didn’t stop its lightning-fast movement and leapt forward before Abe could even get a good look at it. “Shit - !” he bit out, heart in his throat, and there was a flash of movement that Abe couldn’t quite see even with his intense gaze. His fists clenched, eyes wide. Striker Cleanup went down, _hard_.

A wave of water left the scene of the fight impossible to see for a single second. When it receded enough, Abe watched Striker Cleanup swing its pole. Sasori was out of the way before the motion was even completed.

“It’s - They’re n - !” Mihashi choked out, his mind finishing out in Abe’s mind the words that his mouth couldn’t. ( _Too fast!_ )

“They’re gonna have to get ahead of it,” Abe agreed tersely. Another swing, another miss. Sasori roared a sound that had snowy fingertips claw up Abe’s spine. He hadn’t been this close to a Kaiju’s cry since the last time he was in a Jaeger. The time before that, he’d not even had that much between him and a beast, just an old baseball dugout and a mouthful of prayers.

( _We need to -_ )

“No.” A thought, violent and red and somehow smelling of pungent gasoline a step away from catching on fire, sparked into his mind from the beautiful golden filigree domed in his head. Abe looked over to Mihashi, stunned at the bizarre reaction of the Drift for only a second before he reined it in. “Our orders are to remain here.”

“B-But - !”

“ _No,”_ Abe repeated even more firmly. The gasoline smell deepened and colored to oily black before it faded into something a bit softer and downy. His… their senses were getting crossed in the Drift, somehow, Abe realized with a spark of fear. He looked at Mihashi, whose eyes suddenly went as wide as he suspected his were.

“What’s… What’s going on?” Mihashi asked, and in Abe’s mind the sensation was ( _blur / bleach / tingling in your fingers / muffled / lightbulb about to die out / burnt copper_ ) that he tentatively identified as confusion. Whatever was happening to him was happening to Mihashi too. Abe opened his mouth to say that he didn’t know, probably broadcasted as much, but before he could get the words any further than whatever twisted signal he sent Mihashi, a blaring alarm snapped his attention back to the fact that they were definitely _not_ in the kind of situation that really afforded prolonged examination of Drift side effects. The alarm was coming from their open line with LOCCENT, and sounded like it was for Striker Cleanup’s damage sensors.

He looked just in time to see Striker Cleanup grab hold of Sasori’s two front hands, just in time to see an arch to the Kaiju’s back, just enough time to experience the drop in his stomach that he couldn’t explain beyond a sickened hunch. His finger scrambled forward to the communication, opening the line, jaw tense as he croaked - “ _Cleanup, tail!_ ”

Sasori’s tail whipped forward in a move so fast, Abe couldn’t be sure where it hit the Jaeger or how many times. It was a black and blue blur, the bioluminescent hues tracing the Kaiju’s lateral line. Hamada’s voice was a guttural grunt, more alarms going off, and before Abe’s eyes, Striker Cleanup fell.

“ _Tajima! Hanai!_ ” Abe screamed, thumb pressing the hail button so hard it was white and numb.

A slash of ( _paint remover / sulfur / burnt popcorn / mustard yellow / stubbed toe_ ) stained Mihashi’s filigree for the brief second before Tajima’s crackled response came through. “ _We’re……hull comp…….leg….-oming! St…”_ Sasori turned away on a dime and started sprinting straight for Saitama.

“Abe-kun, it’s coming,” Mihashi said, an edge of hysteria creeping in before there was a wave of ( _ice / pale blue /warm / callous / mound / dirt / Abe’s sweat / fine we’re gonna be -_ ). “Engage the plasma rifle.”

Mihashi - Yes, Mihashi was right. Abe looked over Sasori’s shoulders from where the Kaiju had turned towards the beach to see Tajima and Hanai standing. They didn’t have a long-ranged weapon, but Striker Cleanup _was_ built for speed. It could catch up enough to take Sasori down, but if - if Big Windup could incapacitate it enough to slow it down, give Striker Cleanup the edge to be just a _little_ faster -

Abe moved, saw Mihashi move out of the corner of his eye, felt him move inside the Drift. Abe extended his right arm, bent his knees. “Engage stabilizing tripod and foot spikes,” he instructed Big Windup’s A.I. To his left, a screen confirmed engagement of the stabilization system. He looked back to Sasori, clenched his right hand, and exposed the head of the particle dispersion cannon from the retractable carbon-titanium glove. A small screen popped up on the main display, the zoomed-in view with a single crosshair in the middle.

( _Head? / Leg? / computer simulation / lemon / inch between them -_ )

“Head,” Abe confirmed. It was a smaller shot, typically less chance of success, but it would _definitely_ slow Sasori down and the damn thing’s legs were moving too fast for them to target effectively. He inhaled, letting his fingers extend outward as if his fingers were resting on the trigger of a gun in the range. He locked his eyes on the screen, felt Mihashi’s nervousness ( _mint / pale / orange / streak of dirt on the side of a pitcher’s plate_ ). The two of them took aim, and on the same exhale, pulled the trigger. There was a bolt of brilliant blue light discharged into the air, death racing towards the Kaiju - the Kaiju that dipped just to the side and dodged the blow.

“…- _nother shot! Take… -low it d- …”_ Hanai’s crackling voice urged, and Abe grit down on his jaw. The Kaiju was too fast for them to give it enough warning of a sniper shot; they’d have to wait for it to come closer.

“Kill that thing before it gets to the mainland!” Hamada said through the comm line. “Most people won’t have made it to the shelters yet!” Abe closed his eyes at the heartbeat that screamed into a memory of a Kaiju making landfall in Saitama, hovering over a baseball diamond, killing and providing the terror that would drive another young boy to give up his dream to take up war.

“Abe-kun,” Mihashi’s voice rang out in Abe’s ears, and the two of them loaded up the second shot. The particle dispersion chamber filled with energy. Abe stared down the crosshairs of where Sasori was even closer than before, an exhale, a pull of their fingers - _another miss_.

“It’s too fast!” someone from LOCCENT cried out from on the other side of the comm, and Abe swallowed past his mounting anxiety and let it bleed into anger. He took his eyes from the crosshairs to glance at where Striker Cleanup was sprinting as fast as it could behind Sasori. They didn’t have enough time - Sasori would make it to the beach in _seconds they had to stop it from reaching the beach_ -

A flash of black filled Abe’s vision just before the excruciating pain screamed unholy terror from head to toe. Vertigo pinned him and had nausea spilling inside of him like grease over water. He opened his eyes frantically, heart thundering in his chest to match the lightning of screaming pain just in time to see the face of a Kaiju framed with a golden halo by the sun. Everything, _everything_ hurt, _why was the Kaiju on top why was he on his back what was going on (crimson / steel / cold / fire / clench / crack_ ) -

Abe clenched his eyes shut as the Kaiju’s mouth cracked open and the roar filled his ears as surely as the flaming pain ran along every nerve. He heard Mihashi scream, that godawful noise, the sound he swore he’d never hear again, ( _pullpullpullpullpullpull / practiced this shot ten thousand times / helmet / until my head hurt_ ) and then there was a jerk in his right arm, the recoil of the plasma rifle, a discharged shot.

Everything was white. A haze filled his vision, like cotton on warm skin. He opened his eyes and saw the sky in the photochromic display. His body was numb with pain and the blue above him was so, so much. His eyes unfocused, taking in every cloud above him, tracing their shapes and memorizing them. Warmth filled his right hand, and though it ached in every piece of him to do it, he squeezed at it, knowing that it was Mihashi’s fingers curling through his own.

Slowly, Abe became aware of the faint ringing in his ears that became almost overbearing, followed by the crackles of Tajima and Hanai and Hamada’s weepy voice telling them to come home and begging for a response. Home, Abe thought, thinking suddenly of how he was going to come out to the reporters and his family as a hero yet again, someone who had saved the world. He closed his eyes, then exhaled at Mihashi’s quiet ( _green / soft / hurt? / haze / blue / chilled / beach?_ ) that came with “We need to get up.”

“Yeah,” Abe agreed, clenching his jaw tightly against the wave of pain that rippled from every cell in his body. His back in particular, and his gut - if he just knew what had _happened_ \- The first attempt to get up failed, his whole body crippled with too much pain to move. Mihashi’s noise was twinged with frustration, but there was a sharp edge that told Abe he wasn’t the only one desperate to disconnect from the Pons. Striker Cleanup reached down and grabbed Big Windup carefully, tugging the giant machine into a standing position. The nausea from earlier returned, a side-effect of so much pain that Abe would have been sure that he must have whited out a moment ago were it not for the fact that that would have dropped him and Mihashi out of the Drift. With an aching arm, Abe pressed a quivering thumb to the comm button for LOCCENT. “Hamada, what - what happened?”

“The - the Kaiju, it. It attacked you,” Hamada said, voice quivering as though it was holding the weight of a world on its shoulders. “It - You. You better come back now.”

It was certainly not the victory reception Abe was expecting for his second bagged kill, nor was it one he’d want for Mihashi, but Hamada sounded serious enough to warrant little more than an, “Understood.” Abe and Mihashi turned to march back to their Jaeger bay, but as soon as they had the base in their line of sight, the bottom dropped out of Abe’s gut.

“The base…!” Mihashi gasped, staring with wide, horrified eyes at the place where they’d been lying down. One of the areas of the wall was completely destroyed, the door to the Jaeger bay demolished beyond recognition. They’d been standing by the prong of the wall, how - ?

“Get inside, Mihashi,” Abe said, voice quiet and not just an order to his copilot. He swallowed past the carnage, moved cement legs what felt like inches at a time until the two of them were standing next to their Jaeger bay. Next to them, Striker Cleanup marched to the third of the Jaeger bays, their only spare. For the first time, Abe saw the extent of the damage Sasori had done to Tajima and Hanai’s Jaeger - four distinct puncture wounds that had, somehow, missed both nuclear turbines, a dent in the head that was most likely responsible for the damage to their communication devices, and a leg that was half shorn off.

“Ceasing pilot-to-pilot protocol, Drift sequence terminated,” Big Windup’s A.I. announced as they stepped onto the loading dock. Abe exhaled carefully as he felt the golden web of Mihashi’s consciousness pull out of his own, slowly and rich like syrup on a warm stack of pancakes. His breath hitched at the last tug, a reluctant snap that had him alone and quiet between his ears in a way that had his hands feeling spectacularly bereft of warmth, somehow. Blessedly, with his disconnect from Mihashi came a disconnect from Big Windup, and thus all of the pain in his body was now his own.

“I… hurt. _Everywhere_.” Mihashi confessed in a small voice. Abe looked over to see Mihashi’s head tipped backwards, neck long and pale. Blond eyebrows were creased and strong hands clenched in a suit worth more than anything they’d probably ever get to touch again. “That was… I’ve never…”

“Did…” _Did we white out?_ Abe wanted to ask, but he stopped. It was impossible. Any loss of consciousness, any at _all_ would force them out of the Drift, especially with one as tenuous as their own. Not only did neither of them drop out of the Drift, there hadn’t even been any imbalances, no R.A.B.I.T.s, nothing beyond a beautifully in-sync Drift that was the golden dream Abe had never even known he could have masked by pain so thick and intense it was like tar in his veins. Even now, pulled apart from the machine, every movement was like a knife beneath his skin.

“Did we what?”

Abe shook his head. Mihashi’s lips pulled into an even deeper frown, and Abe couldn’t help the huff of a laugh that escaped before he silenced it for the ache in his ribs. “Missing the Drift?”

Before Mihashi could answer, the transport for Big Windup pulled to a stop with a lurch that Abe felt in his inner ears. A heavy metallic clanging sounded as the pod connected to the frame, followed by the hiss of hydraulics as the door behind them opened. Abe disconnected his boots from the Jaeger, probably more proud than he should be at the fact that he wavered only a breath before standing straight. Disconnected from Big Windup, the pain was the phantom kind he could convince himself was just a memory, even if a flash impression of a network on his skin reminded him just how non-phantom pain could be coming from a Jaeger connection, even if it ached in his body in a strange way that was both excruciating and not even there.

Mihashi led the way out of the pod onto the catwalk, and Abe was blissfully glad that the catwalk extended to the floors above the Shatterdome. Even from up high, far above the raucous crowd bursting for answers, he thought he could hear the flashing of the cameras and the chattering of the civilians that had made the unfortunate mistake of wanting to come to the base on the day of an attack. He kept his eyes firmly forward, forced his spine to straighten, aware of every second that he was in the public eye was a second he was needing to be something other than a soldier in pain. He was a warrior, a hero, a champion of the Earth, and he needed to look the part at least on film.

That mask broke a little when he stepped into a sliver of light that was only possible because of the breach of the base wall. He heard the gap in Mihashi’s breath, could only imagine that Mihashi’s heart skipped a hesitant beat just like his own, tried to push past the bite of the ocean in the air that was so very out of place where they were.

An age of the earth later, Abe was off the catwalk and into one of the connecting thoroughfare. Just beyond the door out of the Shatterdome and into the glass-walled hallway, Tajima and Hanai stood, still in their armor. Hanai’s right temple was slashed open, blood trailed down his face, and Tajima was cradling his right arm close to his body. They turned when the door slammed noisily behind Abe, and Tajima’s face brightened from the stoney stare he’d been sharing with Hanai.

“Mihashi! You killed the Kaiju!” Tajima exclaimed, bursting from the seams with energy as if he hadn’t just been through a death match against a Kaiju and almost lost. “Now you’ve got one kill on your belt. Not as many as me ‘n Hanai, but then again, you’ve only got Abe for a partner, so.”

“A-Abe-kun is - !” Mihashi stuttered, the tips of his ears going a light pink. Hanai rolled his eyes, leaving Abe a chance to walk up and take better stock of the two. It was fruitless; any other injuries were hidden by the armor.

“You two look pretty banged up,” he said, and Hanai shrugged carefully and not without a wince.

“We lived,” he said, simply, and Abe swallowed. He had a point. “You two, though. That was rough.”

“What the hell happened, anyway?” Abe asked.

“It happened really fast,” Tajima said, explaining why Abe had no idea what had transpired. “One second, the Kaiju was headed for the beach, and then wham, it completely changed course and grabbed Big Windup at the chest. Then it kind of rode you like a skateboard into the base - it would have been pretty cool if it hadn’t, y’know, been a Kaiju and all.”

“It ‘rode us like a skateboard’?” Abe repeated blandly. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“It jumped on you, and you slid back,” Hanai translated. “It… You were both screaming pretty loudly.”

“It was a good thing the comm was broken!” Tajima interjected, eyes wide and face serious. Abe felt absolutely sick to his stomach.

“...Screaming?”

“Yeah, it was… really scary,” Hanai said. “I mean, I know we get some feedback from the Jaeger, but - ”

“We get a lot,” Mihashi said. “Because - our suits. They’re - special, so. They hurt a lot.”

“Jesus,” Hanai said, rubbing a hand along his domed skull. “I mean, if it gets you in a Jaeger… Well, anyway, we need to report in to Marshal Momoe, and I’m sure the reporters are going to have a field day with this after we get back from the med bay.”

“R-Reporters?!” Mihashi repeated back, looking almost as woozy as if he’d linked back up to Big Windup and gotten a second dose of the pain from the wrecked machine. He hadn’t taken the time to look at their Jaeger after getting out for the sake of the photographers, but he could feel deep in his muscles that whatever Big Windup looked like, it probably wasn’t pretty. Definitely scratched some paint.

Hanai led the small march over to the meeting room, opening the door and stepping inside. Abe followed behind Tajima and let Mihashi walk in behind him, standing at attention when he saw Marshal Momoe standing at the window and looking out onto the Shatterdome. Shinooka was standing next to her, fingers ready to take notes of the debriefing.

“Excellent work, Abe-kun, Mihashi-kun,” Momoe began, turning around and clutching her hands behind her back. “Your quick thinking and actions ensured the death of your first Kaiju. I expect you two should be very proud.”

Abe… hadn’t been, not really, not with the gloom hanging over their return like a vapid mist and having been too busy trying not to puke from the shadow of pain crawling inside his muscles, but now that the words had come out of her mouth, it was like a reminder that ah, yes, he had killed a Kaiju. His second, Mihashi’s first, _their_ first - first of many, if he had any say in the matter. “Thank you, Marshal,” Abe said, somewhat surprised when he heard Mihashi’s voice in perfect concert with his own. He hadn’t expected his copilot to chirp together with him, but apparently he still had a lot to learn.

“That said, this was not a clean kill,” Momoe said, her arms coming around her body to fold beneath her breasts. “Striker Cleanup took heavy damage, and Big Windup will need extensive repair as well. Sasori was fast, faster than we were and smart enough to dodge our attacks. We’ll have it programmed into the Simulator as soon as Izumi-kun returns from the med bay.”

“Med bay?” Abe interjected, a jolt of anxiety tugging at his gut. “He was injured?”

“Three are dead. Twelve injured.” Abe’s gut twisted into a knot as he realized - Oh god, his _family had been in the Shatterdome._

“The civilians?” he asked stiffly. Momoe shook her head.

“Shinooka had them evacuate to the Kaiju shelter just outside. When the Kaiju crushed you against the base, the wall collapsed by Jaeger bay two. Two of the mechanics were killed instantly by the falling debris, and a third died on transit to the med bay. Twelve mechanics were injured, two minor and already discharged. Izumi-kun was one of those two.”

Abe exhaled, relief filling him to the brim, only for it to be stricken from him again when Tajima spoke. “…Shinooka?”

Abe looked to the young woman, and for the first time, he noticed the red rimming of her eyes. She’d been crying, or at least on the verge of it. Immediately he shuffled his weight to the other foot, skin itching with discomfort. The sensation got worse when she coughed out carefully, shoulders hiked up to her ears for a brief second before she squared them and met Tajima’s eyes straight on.

“It’s - Mizutani-kun, he. O-On - On the way to the med bay, he - ” Her mouth clamped shut, and Abe felt the buzz of shock take over his body. Mizutani… was dead?

“Mizutani Fumiki-kun was one of the three casualties,” Momoe said, her voice softer than its usual bark during the debriefing. Abe didn’t dare sneak a look at Tajima or Hanai, and next to him, he could practically hear Mihashi vibrating with tension. “I know that the four of you will want to go to med bay to pay your respects to him as well as the other two mechanics that lost their lives today. Considering that Mizutani-kun was a friend, I will give you relief from handing in your reports until tomorrow, 1700 hours. Tajima-kun, Hanai-kun, I’d like to say we could wait until tomorrow for this as well, but we’ll need to discuss the replacement engineer for your mechanic team as soon as possible. Any questions?”

Abe swallowed thickly past the ache in his throat. The breach of the wall had killed three people - had killed _Mizutani_. His friend, _their_ friend. And that breach of the wall had been caused by his Jaeger - by Big Windup. For all intents and purposes -

 _No._ No. He steeled his jaw and desperately swallowed down the thought before it surfaced any further. Mizutani was a Jaeger mechanic and had been at the Jaeger bay during an attack. He’d known the risks, they all had. He’d given his life on the line of duty, had been ready to -

But he was a mechanic, Abe thought miserably. Mechanics, they - they didn’t expect to have to face death. The fight didn’t come to the base. The fight was in the ocean, fought by the Jaeger pilots, protecting the cities, the civilians. The Kaiju had never come to the bases before, why should the mechanics feel anything other than safety? No… Mizutani wouldn’t have been ready for death, hadn’t been coached to accept it like the Jaeger pilots had.

“Come on, let’s… Let’s go up to the med bay,” Hanai said, voice trembling. “We’ll come right back to talk about the engineering problem.” Tajima turned so quickly that Abe couldn’t see his face, but the pilot’s shoulders were heavy with stiffness. Next to him, Mihashi looked stunned, and when Abe reached out to place a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, he startled and looked at Abe with eyes that were huge and hollow. The sight was like a strike to Abe’s diaphragm - he’d never seen Mihashi with eyes anything less than brilliant, and here - because of them -

“Mihashi,” he said, unsure of what comfort he could give when he had nothing inside of him but this war against feeling guilt. Mihashi’s face fell forward, his body moving mechanically, one foot in front of the other out the door. Abe took one last look over his shoulder to see Momoe staring at him with hard eyes and an even harder mouth, Shinooka standing with a hand over her mouth and eyes tightly shut. He frowned past words in his mouth that he didn’t even know would say and turned back, following his fellows out the door and into the hall.

Abe caught up just as the elevator doors spread open. Tajima was on the lift first, finger jabbing the button stiffly. Abe filed on last, and he made his eyes stare at the numbers as the doors slowly shut with a silence that continued the entire ride up. It was palpable and awful, and Abe swallowed past the rising claustrophobia he’d experienced only once before. His entire body drowned in a cold sweat, nausea billowing faintly when he made the mistake of closing his eyes. He jerked them open, and instead of staring at the numbers he looked to Mihashi’s reflection in the elevator door. It was flat and expressionless, everything Abe hadn’t expected of grief out of the blond. Probably still in shock, then, he guessed, wondering how well Mihashi had known Mizutani, for how long.

The doors opened after a small chime, and Tajima was off down the hall with wide strides that would have made Hanai jealous. The rest of them followed at a more normal pace, perhaps even sluggish, as if prolonging the visit to the med bay would somehow give the doctors time enough to fix death.

 _Death_. Mizutani was _dead_.

The med bay was bustling, and even Hanai with the blood on his face was mostly ignored as Ochi and Yuuri both bustled around taking care of the ten injured who remained. Only when Tajima tried to go into the back room did Yuuri take notice, and then her face went from frantic business to sympathy.

“Oh, Tajima-san,” she said, voice soft. When she saw the other Jaeger pilots, she put a hand over her chest. “You’re all here… yes, of course. Oh, and you’re injured, Hanai-san  - ”

“It’s just a cut, Tajima’s - ” Hanai started, but Tajima spoke over him.

“ - Hanai, you hit your head, you should - ”

“ - arm twisted funny, so - ”

Yuuri cut in delicately. “You’ll both be staying, of course. But I imagine you want to pay your respects to the casualties?” she asked.

“Yes, of course,” Hanai nodded, face somber. Yuuri gestured towards the door, and Abe watched as Tajima turned the handle with his left hand and walked inside.

Abe first noticed Izumi, sitting vigil next to one of the covered figures. Blue eyes opened as soon as the door did, but he didn’t move from where he was leaning on the bed, fingers tented over his mouth. A stark white bandage was wrapped tightly around his wrist over a brace, and blood covered his clothes. All four of them seemed to take notice of the blood at once, Abe thought, tongue heavy in his mouth with a lack of words to say.

“Izumi, Marshal said you weren’t - ” Hanai was the one to speak. Izumi’s voice was flat when he spoke.

“ - It’s not mine. It’s - It was Mizutani’s.” Izumi’s blue eyes lowered carefully to the face beneath the white sheet. “When the wall fell, we were standing beneath it. There was only a second. He pushed me out of the way. Me? I got a sprained wrist. He got a crushed chest and skull and the most agonizing death I’ve seen in years.”

Abe stared at Izumi, noticed the colorful headphones around his neck; he stared down at Mizutani, still forever beneath the sheet, looked to the other two beds whose names he didn’t even know. There had been that one moment of triumph he’d experience in the meeting room, the one moment where he’d felt like he’d done something good, like he should be proud - here, standing in a room that stank of bleach and fabric softener, facing the eyes of four friends staring down at a corpse they’d known, he lost every piece of that.

The door opened again, and Suyama and Sakaeguchi stepped inside, unharmed and unmarked by bandages. In their helicopters, they’d been the most safe. “Hey,” Sakaeguchi said to Izumi, who nodded as if to welcome them back. Sakaeguchi and Suyama weren’t staring at Mizutani, so Abe figured they’d already been inside, already paid their respects. “Shoji and I, we… Do you want to sleep on our couch? Have a little sleepover?” he pressed, standing over and putting a friendly hand on Izumi’s shoulder. “I can’t imagine you - I mean - I don’t - ”

“Nah, I’m just. I just wanna rest,” Izumi said, eyes falling back down to his clasped hands and the bandages covering his wrist. He opened his mouth to continue, but before he could, the door slammed open, and Nishihiro stood in the doorway, chest heaving as he panted heavily from exertion.

“I - came - as soon - as I - heard,” he gasped, stepping around everyone with an uncharacteristic lack of care until he was in front of Izumi. Thin arms snaked around Izumi’s head, cradling it close to his stomach. “I’m… I’m so sorry, I can’t even imagine - You’re staying with me. I’m not going to leave you alone all by yourself down there.” Izumi’s face went from a numb neutral to a pulled frustration.

“Nishihiro - ”

“Izumi, you can’t possibly want to be alone right now,” Nishihiro protested. “I know… I know Mizutani meant so much to you. Please?”

Izumi visibly protested for a second more before his entire body seemed to sink into tiredness. He sighed, and Nishihiro’s face relaxed into something a bit less wild. “All right, Nishihiro. I’ll come.”

“Come on. Let’s get you some rest. You look like you’re about to fall over,” Nishihiro said, reaching a hand up and gently brushing some hair out of Izumi’s face. It was with another sigh, but Izumi stood carefully, letting Nishihiro lead him towards the door. “We’ll catch up with you later,” Nishihiro said to Hanai and Tajima, who nodded, and with one nod of greeting to Abe and Mihashi, Nishihiro was out the door with Izumi in tow.

“Well, that takes care of Izumi,” Suyama said, and Sakaeguchi shook his head.

“He can’t be alone right now,” he said, and Suyama leaned in close while his eyes looked to Mizutani. “I can’t even - _imagine_ \- They were - ”

“Yuuto,” Suyama chided, and Sakaeguchi shook his head while wrapping his arms around himself. “Come on. Marshal will be expecting us for our debriefing by now.”

“You’re right,” Sakaeguchi said, though he stopped in front of Tajima and Hanai on his way to the door. “You two - take care, yeah?”

“Thanks, Sakaeguchi. You, too,” Hanai said, and Tajima nodded. Abe realized for the first time that he’d yet to look away from Mizutani’s form beneath the sheet. Suyama and Sakaeguchi filed out, and Tajima’s face turned with a snap to Abe’s.

“This wasn’t your fault,” he said firmly. Surprise punched Abe in the gut. “He knew what he was signing up for by joining P.P.D.C. We all do.”

“…Even the mechanics?” Hanai said softly, echoing Abe’s earlier thoughts. Tajima’s face whipped to him, still as steely and without question. Abe had had that kind of certainty, once.

“ _Everyone_.” He waited a second, then two, then, “Come on, Hanai. Let’s go talk to Marshal.”

And then it was just Abe and Mihashi, standing in a room where three were dead because of a wall collapse from their Jaeger. The other two bodies didn’t even _look_ like corpses beneath the sheets, he thought, stomach churning and forehead pinching tight. Crushed by the falling pieces of the wall - and at least they’d gone quickly. Izumi was covered in blood, not his own, and Mizutani hadn’t died until -

“Abe-kun,” Mihashi said suddenly, voice soft. Abe stared at the white sheet before them, waiting for Mihashi to continue, but instead, all he got was a soft touch at his wrist. A brush of fingertips, skin on skin, just enough warmth to remind him that he wasn’t alone, he was alive, he was _alive_ , they’d gone out there to kill a Kaiju and had come back to fight another day. Mizutani - Mizutani and the other two mechanics hadn’t been so lucky, and he - he needed to -

“How did you know I needed that?” Abe asked, voice a whisper in the quiet room. For a brief moment, he entertained the thought that he could hear Mihashi’s heartbeat in his veins.

“I don’t know,” was Mihashi’s answer. “But I did.”

Abe swallowed thickly, and turned to lead the two of them out of the room where Mizutani was awaiting collection from whatever family he had in the area. He stepped out into the med bay where Hanai and Tajima had both been caught trying to sneak out by Ochi. It was when they were halfway to the elevator that he remembered something from the Drift, a thought from that bizarre meld that had become too intense to separate.

“Mihashi, have you…” Abe frowned, trying to put the nebulous thought from the Drift into words. “Have you been practicing your shooting… Outside of the range? With a… helmet?”

Mihashi scowled and turned light pink. “I uh, there’s something Oki-sensei… Um…”

Abe shook his head, too emotionally drained to force Mihashi to talk coherently. “We can talk about it later, just… limit it to once a day. No more practicing until you get headaches. We’re already putting a lot of strain on our brains with these suits, and you can’t pilot with me if you’re in a coma.”

Mihashi looked crestfallen for the thirty seconds it took them to get to the elevator. He pressed the button, then sighed and nodded firmly, turning to Abe with a fierce determination in his eyes. “Okay. Once a day. I’ll make Abe-kun proud!”

The two of them stepped onto the elevator, and it was in the quiet calm between them that Abe felt brave enough to say, “You do.” Mihashi squawked, face going bright red and pulling into a most unattractive expression. “Seriously. You did really well out there today, Mihashi. Better than I did on my first run.”

“…Really?” Mihashi asked, eyes filled to the brim with stars. He wasn’t smiling, neither of them were, not when the loss was too fresh, but - but something lightened in Abe a bit at that expression on Mihashi’s face. Something inside made room for hope.

The rest of their trip to the Jaeger loading bay was silent, and Abe stood still as all the technicians swarmed around them to remove their armor while chattering amongst themselves about improvements. When the last piece came off, Abe suddenly realized just how bone-achingly _tired_ he was, and a glance at Mihashi said he wasn’t the only one.

“Come on, let’s go back to our room and grab a nap before dinner,” he said, also making a mental note to call his parents to let them know that he was all right. Mihashi nodded gratefully, and they returned to the elevator to ride it back down to their room.

Mihashi unlocked the door and entered first, barely taking the time to strip out of his clothes before he made it up the ladder and into his bed. There was a muffled bit of noise against his pillow that might have been ‘Good night, Abe-kun’, but Abe wasn’t sure. He didn’t even strip, just fell onto his bed and closed his eyes against the darkness surrounding them.

When Abe woke, his body ached with the lingering pain both of their Drift and of their injuries. A glance at his phone showed that he and Mihashi had slept through the dinner hours for the cafeteria, causing him to huff out a breath as he stared at the bottom of Mihashi’s bunk. It was still open for the late night shift, though, and even better, there’d be no noisy crowd to deal with. The first time he’d gotten into the cafeteria at Musashino after waking up from his coma, having to suffer through the congratulations of what felt like the entire base while knowing he was no longer a Jaeger pilot had been hell. While he didn’t have that particular burden, he was still in no mood to celebrate.

At the thought of Musashino, Abe’s gaze fell down to his phone. He reached over and picked it up, glancing up at the battery. Twenty nine percent. Enough to make a call.

Abe stood out of his bed carefully, eyes looking up to where Mihashi was sprawled out and drooling onto his pillow. The sight tucked a slice of warmth into his chest, and somehow, that was enough to push him out the door. There was a janitor taking care of changing the lightbulbs on their floor, and Abe _really_ didn’t want anyone to hear this conversation, especially not when he suspected it wasn’t going to be the most pleasant conversation of his life.

His feet took him without direction, to the elevator and up to the Shatterdome floor. He could probably find a quiet hall near the meeting room, he suspected, running his hands through his hair and wincing at how nasty it felt. He really needed to shower.

The elevator stopped and he got off, turning down and stepping into the hallway that was just off the catwalk towards the Jaegers with the all-glass wall. It had probably been built for when important P.P.D.C. people came, Abe thought, noting how the large panes of glass allowed for a full panoramic view of the Shatterdome and all its happenings. It was in the dead of night and no repairs were being done considering the circumstances of the engineering crew, so the lights were off and the Shatterdome was uncharacteristically dark.

It was looking through the glass that Abe saw a bright flash of orange in the inky black. He narrowed his eyes and peered through, and when he saw the image before him, his throat tightened. Izumi’s ears were covered with comically-bright earphones, his drawn up legs revealing socks mix-matched and contrasting the cigarette flaring between his lips. His foot was bouncing to the beat of a song, slow, and the frown on his face was wet.

Abe turned slowly so as not to disturb his friend sitting atop Big Windup’s shoulder, needing, for some reason, now, right _now_ , to see Mihashi and hear his breath. He all but raced down the hall and down the elevator, then to their door which he opened as carefully as he could. He shut it, letting the dark of their room wrap around him, and he padded over until he was standing next to Mihashi’s bunk. Mihashi was still asleep, curled into the room, face marked with the smallest frown of lingering pain. Gently, and not entirely sure why he was doing it, Abe leaned his face in, closer, close enough that he could feel the warm puffs of Mihashi’s breath against his face. He closed his eyes and let his cheek rest against the softness of Mihashi’s sheets and the tickle of Mihashi’s pillow against his nose, the same pillow and basic sheets that Abe had and yet so _different,_ different because it was Mihashi’s scent that clung to them, not Abe’s. He inhaled that scent, wood pine soap and cheap shampoo and let his hands raise to the edge of Mihashi’s bed to touch, to feel the warmth Mihashi’s body had left there. It was - it wasn’t - he wasn’t quite sure why the image of Izumi listening to Mizutani’s mp3 player had haunted him so, but - this, he _needed_ this right now.

“ _Mihashi_ ,” Abe whispered with butterfly softness into Mihashi’s sheet, his chest aching and empty as his fingers curled into the fabric, his plea not loud enough to wake him, not _wanting_ to wake him. Not yet.

He just… He wanted…

“ _Mihashi_ … _Mihashi_ … _Mihashi_ … _Mihashi_ … _Mihashi_ …”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [bonus 8tracks](http://8tracks.com/ficteer/izumi)


	23. aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [BEATBOXING INTENSIFIES]
> 
> so.... this chapter sure happened. nsfw!!
> 
> GIFTS!!!! oh MAN. turns out when you take like. a six month hiatus, ppl have time to make LOTS OF STUFF. GOD. ok. so i'm going to do my best to get everything but there's a LOT so if you did something and i don't link to it and you'd like me/the readers to see it, please plz plzzplzpz let me know and i'll link it here! ANYWAY:
> 
> escl-ert:[abemih KCR](http://escl-ert.tumblr.com/post/142540524426/mihashi-got-that-point)  
> escl-ert: [this is probably going to happen like, soon, lmao](http://escl-ert.tumblr.com/post/142322153846/which-on-of-yall-brought-the-gay-thoughts-in-the)  
> escl-ert: [GORGEOUS ABEMIHS PLZ LOOK @ THESE COLORS OMG](http://escl-ert.tumblr.com/post/141333874691/ficteer-your-fic-is-so-good-i-wanna-cry)  
> mochiriceball: [using that botws miha for pose practice bc [scream]](http://mochiriceball.tumblr.com/post/142325934730)  
> escl-ert: [abemih almost kissing and im ready 2 die trademark](http://escl-ert.tumblr.com/post/142206206251/ficteer-botws-is-really-good-with-dragging-out)  
> affectionatetea: [i am SO IN LOVE WITH THESE!!!!! GOD LOOK AT THESE QUALITY ABEMIHAS](http://affectionatetea.tumblr.com/post/136856411461)  
> dismuke: [an addition to izumi's playlist, mwahahahhaa](http://dismuke.tumblr.com/post/136711317097/break-on-the-willow-shore-3izumi-3-the)  
> seasaltinecrackers: [sadie always gotta be bringin the a game to the death party](http://seasaltinecrackers.tumblr.com/post/136662762250/hey-guess-what-updated-thats-fuckin-right)  
> [icymi, my beloved twin-chan haru wrote a fic re: mizutani's death. :(](http://a03feed-oofuri.tumblr.com/post/136410356110/from-wia-to-dow)
> 
> WOW THAT'S. SO MUCH. thank you to EVERYONE who drew/wrote/kept kicking me in the ass until i was like Oh Yeah You're Right I _Do_ Have That One Fic, I Should Really Update Huh
> 
> so yeah, as per usual, thank u all for reading, thank u thank u thank u for all the support, it really means more than you can possibly imagine to get messages and comments and read the reblogs where ppl beg for my death (but only After the fic is finished), like, wow. y'all are the real champs here. anywho [here's](http://ficteer.tumblr.com/tagged/oofuri+pacific+rim+au) the tumblr tag for collected materials, and i hope you enjoy! 8)

 

At some point in the middle of the night, Abe had fallen asleep, if evident only by the way he woke the next morning stiff as the rock-solid feeling cold as ice in his gut. His eyes blinked into the curled springs of Mihashi’s bunk above him, then drifted shut, an arm lifting over them to hide from the world for just a moment longer.

Mizutani was dead, and another day was beginning like it hadn’t noticed.

With a heavy sigh huffing out of his chest, Abe lowered his arm so it flopped to the bed next to him. “Mihashi,” he called, voice soft out of his lips but clear in the room between them. He didn’t bother to make it any louder, knew from the cadence of Mihashi’s breaths that he wasn’t sleeping, that he didn’t need to increase the volume beyond that.

“Hey,” Mihashi answered, equally softly, as though there was a space around their room that was as fragile as the space between sleep and day, and a single too-loud word would break it wide open. Abe blinked slowly, just once, then twice, and then one last time before he closed his eyes again and let his fingers curl into the softness of the blanket encasing him in this last safe space.

“Breakfast?” Mihashi asked, and Abe let a gentle grunt speak for him. He pushed back the blanket and sat up, watching as Mihashi’s pale legs slid from the top bunk and hit the ground gently. He waited for Mihashi to step away towards the kitchen, but Mihashi hesitated, standing still at Abe’s bedside for a moment longer than was really normal before he looked over his shoulder with eyes flat and tired.

Abe swallowed. Mihashi was waiting for him to say something, anything, to let him move. There was an agonizing plea behind the vastness of Mihashi’s expression, a deadness that cracked Abe’s chest and let all the air in his lungs rush out before he could use it. He didn’t _know_ what to say, couldn’t think of _anything_. What could he possibly say? What could he -

“Eggs,” he said, mouth opening and making the word before his brain chimed in for an opinion.

“Eggs,” Mihashi echoed, closing his eyes and turning to walk towards the kitchen. Abe watched the shifting of his shoulder blades beneath his thin cotton shirt, took in the stiffness of his gait - he had to be sore, too, no doubt feeling the same lingering agony of the hell they’d endured yesterday under miles of wire and metal. But he ignored it, looked away, turned his own legs until his feet were cold on the ground and taking him towards the bathroom.

Abe only bothered to close the door most of the way behind him, flicking on the bathroom switch and staring into his reflection in the harsh light. Despite the fact that he’d slept hard enough not even to remember having fallen asleep, he looked like _shit_. Pale face, bags beneath his eyes, enough stubble to start up a sanding paper factory. He ran his hands through his hair, mussed it up even more than it was, then looked away when it felt like he’d put his fist through the glass if he had to look at the reflection a second longer. Standing in front of the mirror and feeling nauseous wasn’t - it wasn’t helping anything, he thought fiercely. He needed - he needed to shower, to get dressed, pull himself the fuck together. He needed to be strong so Mihashi could lean on him.

“Let’s go for a run after breakfast,” he called out into their room, raising his voice a bit so he could be heard over the popping of eggs in the pan and through the crack in the door between them. He could take a shower in the locker room, then, let his muscles take the brunt of the fucked up mood hanging heavily between his shoulder blades and keeping them stiff.

“Okay,” Mihashi said, and Abe pushed away from the ceramic sink, shut off the light, and left the bathroom to join his copilot.

Mihashi was standing in front of the stove, poking at the contents of their frying pan with a spatula every few seconds. Abe gathered two forks and put them on the table, then two cups that he filled with the drudges of their orange juice. They _really_ needed to go to the commissary. Meanwhile, Mihashi worked whatever magic required for two servings of eggs to show up beautifully on their plates, then cut up the last of their strawberries and fished some toast out of the toaster that Abe hadn’t even notice him sneak in.

Breakfast was silent save for the drag of metal against their plates and the occasional crunch of toast or a cup hitting the table on its way back down. It stretched on and on, an endless and aching meal, until Abe looked up and saw Mihashi’s hand lying on the table, curled into a tense fist. His eyes trailed then to Mihashi’s shoulders, the tense line supporting a head that was focused on the plate in front of him. Abe licked his lips, getting the toast crumbs from around his mouth, then swallowed lightly. He switched his fork to his left hand, and gently, he reached his own hand across the table, watched it hover over Mihashi’s for just a moment, then lowered it until their skin was touching, sharing what little warmth was found in their hands together. Mihashi’s fork paused mid-air, then lowered slowly down to his plate with a slight clink. Abe watched, waited, as Mihashi’s fist slowly unclenched, fingers blossoming like a flower beneath his palm as they unfurled and made way for their grip to slot together.

“I’m... I’m okay,” Mihashi said, voice tight between them. “I just...”

“I know,” Abe said, though he wasn’t really sure he did. He watched as Mihashi’s gaze lifted to his own, eyes absolutely unreadable and yet somehow crystal clear. He tried to think of the emotions he saw there, the emotions he felt in the stillness of Mihashi’s hand between his fingers - he tried, but he couldn’t, couldn’t think of any words that fit the silver gray storm cloud staining Mihashi’s face in front of him, anything that described the way he could taste the bitterness of loss on the back of his tongue as sharply as if he’d eaten a grapefruit and not a strawberry. He couldn’t say it, not if he knew every word in the dictionary - but when he said it again, softly, thumb tracing over the back of Mihashi’s knuckles - “I know.” - it didn’t feel like a lie.

Mihashi stared at him for a few breaths longer, eyes darting back and forth within Abe’s gaze as if looking desperately for something in Abe’s eyes; he found it, Abe thought, if the way a brittle smile crossed Mihashi’s lips and he picked up his fork once again was any indication.

When he made to pull his hand back, Mihashi’s fingers twitched ever so slightly, so Abe left their fingers tangled together on the table top. It was pretty nice, really, even though it was a bit of a pain in the ass to have to try to eat with his left hand. The last bit of his eggs slid off his fork twice before Mihashi actually managed to giggle at his misfortune, hand gripping Abe’s hand even tighter despite the fact that Abe clearly couldn’t handle the last bite of his breakfast compromised.

“No, you gotta,” Mihashi hiccuped, and Abe hid his smirk in a forced huff of grumpy air. “Just like that.”

“You’re a fiend,” Abe groaned, fork hitting the plate with a loud clang when he rocked back into his chair when his eggs hit the plate for the fourth time. Mihashi’s laughter went from barely muffled giggles to outright laughter, full and robust. Abe watched, face beaming, watching with a thin rush of relief, only to feel the shift in Mihashi’s tone before he saw it. Fingers gripped his even more tightly, the laughter grew thicker, and then Mihashi’s face collapsed, other hand coming up to his face to hide the fact that his eyes had started to water. The chuckles choked up, and Abe watched, heart breaking, as Mihashi’s shoulders hitched up to his ears in perfect concert with the first sob.

“H-He’s really - ” Mihashi croaked, forearm blocking his face from Abe’s view even as his other hand gripped Abe’s like it was the only thing keeping him on the ground. The next sound was like a wail, agonizing and terrible.

Before he knew what he was doing, Abe pushed away from the table and came around, falling to his knees in front of where Mihashi was sitting. He didn’t even bother trying to look at Mihashi’s face, instead just shoved his arms around Mihashi’s waist, pulling him close and holding him tightly. “Mihashi,” he started, voice rough, but he cut himself off when fingers gripped his shoulders like a vice and a warm, familiar smell filled his nose. Mihashi crumpled into him, body shaking with each passing moment of agony, and Abe held him, his lips pressing so firmly together they hurt. He dug his fingers into Mihashi’s back, pulled his shirt until he was sure it would tear beneath his grasp, pulled Mihashi closer as he tried to somehow take some of Mihashi’s pain inside of himself and make it his own, just so Mihashi didn’t have to feel so much of it. He wished for a moment that they were in the Pons system, that he could just push his mind out towards Mihashi like he did in the Drift, share the way his chest clenched in agony, share the way he was _there_.

“A-Abe-kun,” Mihashi sobbed, back bent at an impossible angle as he tried to bury himself even further into Abe’s comforting gesture. “Abe-kun. Abe-kun.”

“Shhh,” Abe whispered, letting one hand release Mihashi’s back enough to stroke gently along the long muscle beneath his palm. It was warm, and he closed his eyes, imagining taking some of that warmth into his hand, letting it fill him before he pushed it back out in each soothing stroke. “Shhhhhh, it’s okay, Mihashi. It’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay.”

He didn’t know how long he sat there, feet prickling from sitting on his knees to the point of numbness, gently petting Mihashi’s back and taking as much comfort as he was desperately trying to give. He let each of Mihashi’s quivers wash over him, rake his skin until it was bloodied and new. He counted the spaces between his breaths, counted the space between Mihashi’s, matched them until he could slowly try and bring Mihashi’s hitched hiccups back down to smooth inhales and exhales. Eyes screwed shut, Abe pushed hard into the effort, _Mihashi, Mihashi, Mihashi_ chiming in his head on each slow release of air in the sliver of space between them.

It worked, eventually, Mihashi calming enough for Abe to sigh once more and pull himself together like he’d done in the bathroom. He shook his head just a little bit, then pulled back, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Sakaeguchi’s echoing in the back of the mind to _talk, don’t assume_. “So... Do you want to stay here while I go run? You look like you didn’t sleep well last night.” And he did, not too different from the way Abe’s face had looked in the mirror not even an hour ago.

“So do you,” Mihashi mumbled stubbornly, reaching out with his hand and letting a thumb drag along Abe’s jawline through scratchy stubble before pressing into the corner of his eye where Abe knew he had some impressive bags going. He swallowed, watching Mihashi’s eyes to try and pull the words out of Mihashi’s face if he couldn’t get them out of his mouth, but the eye contact earned him the answer he was looking for before he could even look for it. “N-no, I’m... I’m going to come too. I should... It should be. Normal. We can’t. We can’t let it - ” Mihashi cut himself off sharply, looking sickened by the words coming out of his mouth but biting them out all the same. Abe nodded once. Mihashi was right - they were Rangers. They were the line of defense between humanity and extinction, the force that the whole world was counting on to be strong enough to watch friends die while they kept standing firm. He remembered, suddenly, a spat comeback to Hamada, that he wasn’t there to make friends - remembered nearly giving Mihashi up - cutting away this comfort he’d somehow _known_ he’d have - because of his job. _Their_ job. The same job Mizutani had. The same job everyone here had.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Abe said, voice low and solid. He wondered if Mihashi could tell that he was proud of him, more than just a little, for being the one of the two of them to remember their place. “We can’t let - can’t let him down,” he decided on. To anyone else, it would have probably sounded like he was using Mizutani’s death to push Mihashi just a little further - sounded that way to his own ears, even - but Mihashi nodded, seeming to understand, somehow, what Abe had meant.

Mihashi pulled his arms back from where they’d wrapped around Abe’s head, giving Abe enough room to push off of the floor and stand. His feet began to prickle with the sudden flow of blood, and he shook them out, hissing a breath out through his teeth at the thought of going for a run after this. Behind him, Mihashi stood from the table, collecting their plates and putting them in the sink. Abe grabbed his running shorts and a shirt to the sound of running water, then pulled open Mihashi’s drawer and snagged a pair for him, too. He pulled off the shirt he’d slept in and left it on his bed to deal with later, pulling on the shirt over his head and running a hand down his stomach over the P.P.D.C. logo to flatten it out. He ditched his shorts and kept the same boxer briefs on, though he snagged a clean pair for after he showered and got the gross off and a fresh set of clothing.

A hand at his elbow drew his attention as soon as he was finished changing, and he handed over the clothes he’d gotten out for Mihashi at the outstretched hand. While Mihashi got ready, Abe pulled on his tennis shoes and tied them, focusing on the knot and tying it just so. He kind of wanted to go outside for their run, so he walked over to the television and pull up the holoscreen that showed the status of the base. The weather didn’t look promising - 60% chance of rain. That meant it would also be humid as hell, and not too pleasant for running. It seemed he was doomed to run on a treadmill at Nishiura forever.

As soon as Mihashi was finished, Abe clicked off the holoscreen and followed him out of their room, locking the door behind them as they stepped into the hall and went towards the elevator. The trip to the gym was silent save for the hum and ding of the lift, then the voices around them in the hallway. Abe opened the door for Mihashi, letting his copilot duck under his arm and into the locker room. He dropped off his keys and phone in a locker and grabbed a bottle of water out of the communal fridge, watched as Mihashi did the same, then went into the gym itself.

The smell of machines and sweat filled his nose with a comforting familiarity, and Abe picked a treadmill that was furthest to the wall. He stepped on, set his water bottle in the holder, and set up a brutal program - all hills, thirty minutes. It was going to _suck_ , and honestly he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to pull it off after the brutal fight his body had survived the previous afternoon. But he wanted it - wanted to ache, wanted to scream and tear at the walls and not be able to think about anything but the agony in his body.

“Thirty minutes?” Mihashi asked next to him, and Abe nodded without looking over. He pressed the button for the program to start and started his light warmup. Two minutes later, he was clearing his first hill, and another two minutes had him huffing up the third. His legs screamed at him after the first fifteen minutes, lungs aching and mouth filled with heaves of air. He was pretty sure his calves were going to fall off by the time he was done, and his quads were definitely going to pack their bags and never show their faces in the gym ever again. His side ached, biceps clenched as he used every muscle in his body to pull his ass over the next hill, then the next, then the next. He ran, pace brutal, until finally the treadmill beeped right when he thought to look down and change the program just a bit. The slope declined, the pace slowed, and he switched into a more leisurely jog until he was walking out the burn. He reached down to his water and chugged half of it, wiping the back of his forearm across his mouth in a useless attempt to clear it since his arm was about as wet with sweat as his lips with water.

A glance over to his left showed that Mihashi was in no better shape, face fire-red and mouth hanging open as perspiration dripped from his sopping-wet shirt. He’d gone too hard too, Abe noted, eyes tracing the way his arms were shaking and his legs were taking each step like he was desperately grateful to be walking his cool down. He huffed out as much as a laugh as he could managed, turning his attention down to the display in front of him and watched the counter go down.

Just when Abe was pretty sure his body wouldn’t be able to take much more of a workout, the treadmill stopped, and he gripped the sides, catching his breath and feeling his heart thunder in his chest. He wiped his face with the hem of his shirt, but it was mostly useless considering that his shirt was wrecked with sweat. He dropped it back down to his stomach and looked over to Mihashi, whose gaze slowly lifted slightly to meet Abe’s.

“Hey, your shirt’s soaked too,” Abe defended, and Mihashi blinked once, then gripped his shirt with one hand and bit down gently on his lip as he stepped off the treadmill and onto the floor.

“Oh, right,” Mihashi said, laughing breathlessly. Abe narrowed his eyes, taking his water bottle and thrusting it into Mihashi’s chest. Mihashi squawked when the bottle made contact with his chest, fingers rising automatically to grip around Abe’s on the bottle sweating as much as the two of them were. “Th-Thanks,” Mihashi said, taking the  bottle and taking a slow sip.

“Finish it. I’ll just go grab another one before I hit the shower,” Abe said, watching with careful eyes to make sure Mihashi hydrated properly. Mihashi’s eyes met his and with a soft, barely-there huff, Mihashi brought the water bottle to his mouth and tilted his head back to drain it empty. Abe nodded, satisfied, turning away to walk back towards the locker room while reaching over his back to grab at the neckline of his shirt. It was disgusting, and pulling it off had him releasing a groan of delight.

He dropped off his shirt in front of the locker he’d claimed, hands going down to pull off his shorts and boxer briefs. They stuck to his skin unpleasantly, socks ending up on top of his shoes in a wad. Snagging a towel, Abe walked into the showers and put the water on lukewarm; not too cold to give his body a shock, but cool enough to feel like a fresh breath on his skin. He soaped up, ears picking up the sound of Mihashi cranking on a shower of his own, then washed it all down the drain - soap, suds, sweat, and what little bit of uncertainty he’d held in him to that moment.

Abe gripped the dial for the shower and twisted it all the way to the right to turn off the flow of water. He stood still for a moment longer, lingering in the steam, before he grabbed his towel and started to dry himself off. He walked out of the stall, eyes catching the pale width of Mihashi’s back over one of the distant stalls, fingers buried in blond curls and massaging slowly. A slow path of suds trailed down Mihashi’s spine, catching in the skin and disappearing beneath the cutoff of the stall before it ceased its path. The steam from the water had made the room too warm to linger near when he wasn’t in a shower himself, though, so he turned away before he decided whether or not to tell Mihashi to make sure to rinse his back well.

Back in the locker room, Abe pulled on his clean clothes and looked down at his phone to see that he had a single text. He sat down heavily on the bench, and for a moment, his heart jumped in his throat, expecting it to be from Haruna - but it was from Izumi, terse and to the point: _meet me in the simulator room._

 _Sure_ , he texted back. _Leaving the gym in a few._

 _god you obsessive freak no wonder you’re so fucking stacked_ , came back the response, followed by _please tell me you didn’t kill mihashi_

 _Idk he might be drowning himself in the shower so he doesn’t have to run with me again_ , Abe texted back, feeling the smirk pull on his face at the awesome joke. He looked up when the door to the showers opened and closed again, and watched Mihashi, skin pink and fresh from being scrubbed, approach. “Izumi said to meet him in the Simulator,” he announced, looking back at his phone and pulling up his messages.

“Okay,” Mihashi said, rustling about with his clothes. Abe flicked through his texts, noting how sparse they were compared to the almost-constant back and forth Mihashi seemed to have with Tajima and his cousin, Ruri. He looked up to see Mihashi pulling a shirt over his messy hair still damp from the shower, shoulder blades curving elegantly beneath taut skin and pulling the cotton just so. “Are we going to do a Drop, you think?”

Abe licked his lips, dropping his gaze back down to his phone and thumbing through the screens again. “Probably. We’ve got combat data now, so he’ll probably be looking to calibrate the Pons System.”

Mihashi’s soft noise of agreement filtered through Abe’s ears, followed by the final zip of the bag he’d brought with them. Turning, Mihashi extended his hand for Abe’s dirty laundry, and rolled it inside when Abe leaned over without standing and dropped the ball of sweaty clothes in Mihashi’s hand. Mihashi stuffed it in on top of his own, closing the zipper and hauling the bag over his shoulder. With a glance to Abe, Mihashi nodded, rocking backwards onto his heel with a small smile. “Ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Abe agreed, standing and slipping his phone in his back pocket.

The hallway had more people in it than it did in the earlier morning, bustling back and forth in an even more orderly fashion than usual. Abe wondered if it had something to do with the casualties of the last battle, if they’d all gone to a stricter standard in an effort to tighten the ship, or if it was some kind of coping - if this was their kilometers of hills to run. There was even people in the elevator when the doors opened to them, and Abe tensed, half-expecting some kind of question to come forward, some kind of recognition. It didn’t, however, the contents of the elevator as quiet when Abe and Mihashi stepped off as they had been when they stepped on. Whether they’d gone unrecognized or whether the people hadn’t cared, Abe wouldn’t know.

When they stepped through the door to the Simulator room, Izumi was already there, reclining against the desk next to Hamada and spinning a wrench on the side of his hand. Blue eyes looked up to meet Abe’s as soon as they walked in, and Abe was startled to see they were just as nonchalant and typical as ever.

“Hey, there you are,” Izumi said, spinning the wrench one more time before he pushed off the desk with his hip and snatched it into his palm. “Now that we have real data from a drop, I wanted to get you two in here for some testing. See if we can tighten up that calibration a bit and work on those pain thresholds.”

“B-But, we didn’t... not much,” Mihashi said, head tilted to the side.

Izumi scoffed, wrench once again coming to spin on the side of his hand carelessly. “Okay, first of all, you killed a _Kaiju_ , so _act_ like it. The press is gonna be on you like stink on shit soon, and they’re gonna want a better story than ‘oh, yeah, we didn’t do much’. Second,” he said, dropping the wrench off his hand and sparing it only the slightest look before he continued, “it’s not like this is the last calibration I’m ever gonna do. Every step closer to actual combat in the Simulator is one step closer to you two being able to fight better in Big Windup. Which is, y’know, the goal here.”

Izumi picked up the wrench from where he dropped it, using it to point at the door to the Simulator locker room with an arched eyebrow and a flat expression. Abe looked to Mihashi just in time to see him looking back, sparing Izumi one last look before he sighed and nodded. “He’s right, Mihashi. Let’s get suited up.”

Abe led the way out of the faux-LOCCENT and into the locker room where their electromyograph suits were stored. It was the first time they’d been in here since their team logo had been revealed, and for a moment, Abe was surprised that the space below his name was still blank. But of course - made sense, he thought, opening the door and reaching down to his belt to pull it out of the buckle. Putting the logo on their doors in the Simulator’s locker room was probably the last thing on anyone’s mind right now.

He stripped all the way down, folding his clothes and leaving them in a neat pile on a shelf in the locker. The electromyograph suit still somehow felt like ten million yen when he reached out and touched it, running the material through his fingers. He stepped into the legs first, pulling and plucking them into place, feeling the spandex material contour to his musculature as perfectly as it was supposed to. Then, as soon as he had it gathered up at his waist, he looked over to see how Mihashi was faring.

Mihashi was about on the same pace, standing on his tip toes and wiggling his hips to get the material to fall into the right line on his body. He whipped around, eyes wide and catching Abe’s from across the room. “Hand...!” he chirped, coming forward and meeting Abe in the middle of the room. Abe’s hand lifted in perfect concert with Mihashi’s, their hands meeting, fingers twining together without missing a beat.

“Ready?” Abe said, only to frown a bit when Mihashi blinked inquisitively. “What?”

“Your phone? To time?” Mihashi asked, and Abe looked over his shoulder to see where his phone was sitting on top of the pile of clothing, just out of arm’s reach. He’d have to let go of Mihashi to grab it.

“We’re good,” Abe said, turning back to Mihashi and watching him blink once, then twice, then nod as if that was good enough for him. Abe nodded as well, then closed his eyes. “Five minutes,” he said, and started counting in his mind. _One, two, three, four..._

Mihashi’s breath washed over his face as it usually did when they were standing this close together. If he concentrated, he could register a bit of Mihashi’s shampoo clinging to the thin strands, the bottle he always tried to remember to carry with him into the showers. Abe wondered if the generic stuff in the pumps on the walls was too harsh for his hair, dried it out or something, or if maybe he didn’t like how it smelled - it was some seriously clinical stuff, for sure. But the tangles seducing Abe’s nose now were more herbal, a bit softer, less of a harshness to them than the post-workout clean Abe personally enjoyed on himself. It settled on his palate, led him to imagine ringlets of gold between the webs of his fingers - would the smell cling to his skin? _Could_ it? He imagined running his hand through Mihashi’s hair, petting him long enough that his palm would smell like him when they were apart, that he could just bring his fingers to his nose and have a piece of Mihashi with him -

“T-Time,” Abe said, jerking out of the thought before he could let it go any further. He blinked into Mihashi’s eyes as they fluttered open, soft and daydream-like and so very, very close to his own. “Five minutes,” he said again, gruffly, not sure for whom he was saying it.

“Right,” Mihashi said, and with one hiccup of hesitation, he stepped back, waiting for Abe to help pull the fingers of his suit into place. Abe did his duty for his copilot, then shrugged his own into place, slipping his finger into the neckline of Mihashi’s suit at the nape and making one last check for a curl of the spandex. “Ready, Abe-kun?” Mihashi asked, and Abe nodded, ready to take the drop.

The two of them marched side by side into the armor room, where they stood still as each piece was drilled into place. The technicians were unusually chatty, saying aloud what they were doing, where each piece was going, the recitation of standard operating procedure for their position a gentle background noise for Abe’s suiting. A return to basics from the bottom of the base up, Abe thought, once again noticing the desire for precision he’d seen in the hallway earlier. Marshal Momoe’s visage came to mind, and he supposed it wasn’t too unusual to think that the people she selected found a kind of comfort in routine. He himself hadn’t been exempt.

When he and Mihashi were all suited up, he took the helmet from the technician at his side and pulled it over his head. The relay gel filled into place, viscous connectivity humming at the edge of his awareness. His fingertips were tingling with anticipation, stomach vibrating with the need to have his mind touch Mihashi’s. He thought back to that morning, on his knees and desperate for the connection that made words secondary between them.

A glance to Mihashi’s expression showed that he wasn’t alone.

Abe led the way to the Simulator pod, walking through the door and taking his place on the left side of the Jaeger rig. He looked at it for a moment, pushing down the phantom sensation of pain lingering still in his body. Most of it was from the brutal workout a scarce handful of minutes ago, but there was enough from their drop - the scrape of the back, the grip of claws, the digging of the wall of their base into his flesh - that there was a split second of _I don’t want to do this_ that flashed through his mind.

“Abe-kun,” Mihashi said, feet already in place in the locking mechanism on the right side of the rig. And that - that was all Abe needed for every piece of doubt to wash away. It was just pain, he reasoned, stepping into place until his boots clicked. He’d worked too hard - _Mihashi_ had worked too hard - for them to doubt themselves at this point.

“Okay, you two. Izumi said he’s got some specifics that he’s wanting to try out for the calibration, so you might feel things a little differently from usual,” Hamada said over the intercom. “It’ll be closer to what you felt in the real drop, though. Or at least, it should!”

Abe closed his eyes, letting his head fall back between his shoulders as he remembered. The Drift from their first drop - it had been - _magical_ , the word came, unbidden into his mind and absolutely perfect for the glittering sensation in his stomach. _Magical_ , he silently repeated, hungry for that connection again. He wanted to Drift again _now_.

“Pitching,” he mumbled, and although he didn’t look to see that Mihashi had heard, although he didn’t hear Mihashi confirm with words that he _had_ heard, Abe knew he had.

“Engaging pilot-to-pilot protocol sequence,” the A.I. announced, machines whirring to life around them. Abe kept his eyes closed, counting the seconds between each breath like they were pitches, savoring the slow bleed of gold into his mind that happened as smoothly as if it had been there all along. It was almost as if it _had_ been there all along and was blooming from bud into flower, subconscious to conscious. It took his breath away, feeling the warmth and intimacy of Mihashi’s mind as if it were his own, closer than he’d ever been with anyone - with Haruna, with Tajima, with Mihashi, even. He licked his lips, tongue heavy and foreign against the press of his own flesh, but that’s because ( _lips are too dry / forgot my chapstick / ugh again)_ it wasn’t even his to begin with but somehow ( _soft / hand / hothothothothot / AbekunAbekunAbekunAbek )_ it might as well have been.

But one word was in both of their heads: _faster_.

“That was.... jesus, guys,” Hamada said, voice clear through the intercom as opposed to the slight crackle it had when they were communicating over the waves to Big Windup. “So, time until Drift was practically zero. The instruments all _say_ zero but considering that’s actually _impossible_ , congratulations, you’ve officially broken the super computer.”

Mihashi’s hand lifted to press the button on the intercom. “Does Izumi-kun want us just to calibrate or are we going through the Simulator?” he asked. There was a slight break in the communication - Hamada talking to Izumi, presumably - before a click and Hamada came back through.

“We’re gonna run you through a simulation. It’ll be an easy kill - we’re not looking to test your skills this time, just measure how well things are going with the calibrations,” he said, and Mihashi confirmed the instructions before letting his arm drift back down to his side. He glanced over at Abe, who nodded to show that he acknowledged them as well. The movement felt extraneous, what with ( _yellow / peach / honeysuckle sweet_ ) echoing in his mind the moment they locked eyes.

The countdown to the beginning of the simulation began, and Abe watched the numbers on the screen in front of him decrease from ten. Then, he felt it - the second the Pons System butted against their bond, settling between them and acting as the bridge. The urge to flinch away was even worse than it had been before, the gut reaction of wrongness for something _besides_ Mihashi’s mind encasing his own startling. But he forced the wall down, accepted the haze and let it sink into his consciousness to bind him to the machine. The whole process took barely a second, quick even in his mind. The screen fragmented, then bled into a scene at the edge of an ocean.

Abe didn't recognize the Kaiju projected in front of him, and the codename Meridialis displayed on the side of the screen didn’t help. Judging by the weight, it was just a Category I, small and slow. One of the earlier Kaiju, then, Abe figured, wondering if perhaps one of the Jaegers from the Tokyo program had taken it down. He’d try to remember his history lessons later, if he had the mental energy after Drifting.

The Pons filled every sense with the Drift, just as it had done in Big Windup. The wind cut through him and he wondered, for a moment, if he could even taste the salt on its wings. But that was _impossible_ , Big Windup didn’t even have sensors that would record that - ( _weather conditions - ? -_ ) or maybe it did, but _still_.

The Kaiju ran forward, a sedate pace that looked dreadfully slow compared to the Kaiju they’d faced for real. But it was still a Kaiju, and Abe knew for a fact that the pain here in the Pons System was as real as the pain he’d feel in Big Windup, so he steeled his mind and sent a quiet warning to Mihashi to take it seriously. A spike of tarragon on his tongue was the response, and his nose wrinkled until it faded away to a citrus shimmer instead.

“Engaging plasma rifle,” Mihashi’s voice said, cutting through the bizarre sense experience of their mild bickering. Abe watched as the sensors indicated their foot spikes driving into the ground, stabilizing the shot. Their right arms raised, plasma rifle extending into the sniper operation as smoothly as expected of Izumi Kousuke’s baby. The photochromic display on the right shifted to the magnification of the Kaiju’s rushing body. _Head,_ Abe decided - the Kaiju was running steadily enough that they weren’t likely to miss, and it wasn’t the speedy dodging machine from yesterday.

A flash of mint green behind his eyelids answered his instruction just as they both pulled the trigger, catching the Kaiju perfectly between the eyes. It went down, hard, and just in case, they dispatched another shot, ensuring the kill. Their movements were as coordinated as if there was no Pons System between them, as if they’d choreographed them for years before stepping into the machine. It felt like the kind of Drift he’d always wanted, the kind of Drift he’d always been a little afraid to let himself have - ( _gold eyes / dark hair / box? / Haruna’s cologne)_ -

“Stop,” Abe said out loud, tasting the acrid anise even in his own mouth. For a terrifying second, there was no answer - no thoughts, no tastes or smells or colors - but then Mihashi’s quiet apology came, soft and fragile as winter’s last snowflake. It almost wasn’t there, but Abe felt it enough to deflate his response just a bit.

The moment passed in concert with Mihashi raising a hand to touch the communication button. “Hama-chan, are we good to go?” The response sounded muffled, like Hamada was pressing the communication button on his side but had his face turned away to talk to someone else. Mihashi looked to Abe, a soft tumble of confusion spilling over in the form of dryer sheets and the daze after spinning in a circle one too many times.

“Hey, sorry, yeah, Izumi says he got what he needed,” Hamada finally said after the deliberations seemed to cease. “Come on out and we’ll send you on your way.”

Abe exhaled, feeling the Drift disengage itself. The Pons System receded first, followed by the golden filigree of Mihashi’s mind wrapped around his own. It pulled back into the back of his mind, slowly and softly until he couldn’t feel its warmth ensnaring his thoughts any longer. Oddly, though, the bereft feeling he expected didn’t come, sending a cascade of relief through his spine. The feeling of _empty empty empty_ that he’d gotten used to after Drifting with Mihashi didn’t come. He hadn’t even realized how nervous he’d been about the weird withdrawal, he thought, letting the rig unscrew itself from his armor while he stood still. He was getting used to Drifting with someone again, to feeling someone enter his mind and then leave without digging a hole that felt like it could never be filled again. He caught himself wondering if he’d ever had gotten to that point with Haruna, had he stayed - if he’d never locked away his feelings and let their numbers be what they should have been and not the joke that they were - before he shut down the feelings, _hard_. He didn’t _want_ Haruna, didn’t want Musashino or 144 Sprinter or any of that. He wanted Mihashi, _had_ him. Had Big Windup. He had _everything_ and to even _think_ about giving any of it up just because - because -

A soft touch at his elbow gathered his attention back to Abe’s surroundings. Mihashi’s fingers were warm even though their layers of clothing, and he leaned into the touch, just a hair. He stole the comfort of a moment before he shook the rest of it off and nodded once. He followed behind when Mihashi led the way to the technicians, then widened the length of his gait until they were walking side-by-side, like they should be. He didn’t miss how Mihashi cut his attention over to him for a split second before directing it down to the ground to hide a smile.

Armor removed, Abe and Mihashi walked into the locker room and peeled off the electromyograph suits to hang up delicately. Abe pulled on all his clothes, tugging the wrinkles out of his shirt and running his fingers under the chain of his dog tags to pull them out from his collar. They clinked noisily as they fell to his sternum, catching the light and sending it dancing on the blank space beneath his name on the locker door. He closed it with a loud bang, then turned and waited for Mihashi to pull on his socks and shoes.

“That was a good run,” he said, filling up the gaping chasm between them that ached, suddenly, like an open sore. Mihashi’s eyes looked up, an almost confused look crossing over his face. Abe resisted the urge to fidget. “I mean, it was a pathetic Kaiju, and we weren’t trying to show off or anything, but we were - It was good.” God, _pathetic._

But Mihashi didn’t show any signs of thinking that at all, just smiled meekly and nodded. “Y-yeah, we were... It was good,” he repeated, then stilled, looking down at where he was tying his shoes. “I didn’t think I could ever... I never thought I’d...” He hesitated, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he clearly struggled for the words to fall out of his mouth in the way he wanted. Abe waited, staring, waiting waiting waiting, until finally Mihashi looked up, eyes golden and wide. “Thank you, Abe-kun.”

Abe swallowed thickly, not sure what he could even _say_ to that. Part of him was _furious_ , positively _enraged_ that Mihashi could possibly think that this had anything to do with _him_ , when _Mihashi_ had been the one working his fingers to the bone to get to that point. Another part was absolutely, brilliantly _delighted_ , shimmering and sparkling with the thoughts that _I gave you this chance_ but not in the way he expected, the smug pride he would have felt had Haruna ever expressed gratitude - it was something different, something more fulfilling, a feeling of cinnamon and chestnuts that spread from his toes to his fingertips that he’d actually been able to help Mihashi reach his dream.

“Yeah,” he said, voice thick with everything he knew he would never say to Mihashi in words. “Come on, Izumi’s probably waiting on a debriefing.”

Mihashi made quick work of his shoes after that, and then the two of them left the locker room to head back towards the secondary LOCCENT for the Simulator. As Abe suspected, Izumi was standing there, pointing at the screen in front of Hamada’s face with an increasingly deep frown.

“ - shouldn’t _be_ zero,” Izumi was saying when they walked in, blue eyes cutting up to acknowledge their presence before he looked back down at the monitor. He tapped it with a fingertip, lips curling unpleasantly over his teeth when he hissed out a low curse. “Something’s not right.”

Hamada rolled his eyes. “No shit.”

“I don’t know if it’s the wiring crossing weird, or the technitian input - ”

“ _Hey!”_

“ - or what, but it’s. That’s not _possible_ ,” Izumi continued.

Done standing awkwardly, Abe grunted and crossed his arms. “Did you get what you needed?” he asked.

Izumi sighed and ran a hand through his hair from the nape of his neck upwards, gripping it tightly and making a sour face. “Yes and no. I got the results I expected, but they still don’t make any sense.”

“What... What do you mean?” Mihashi asked, sounding a little scared. Abe huffed out a sharp breath as Izumi gestured for them to come closer. He pointed at some number on the screen, a zero in an ocean of graphs and numbers and symbols that looked like they belonged in an art museum more than on a computer screen.

“See this? This number is impossible,” Izumi said, jabbing it once more with accusation. “Either the computer is wrong or you two are actually impossible, and considering that you’re standing in front of me and I could actually punch you in the face if I wanted to, you’re not impossible, so the computer is wrong.”

“But he rewired it himself so that’s not possible,” Hamada said from over Izumi’s shoulder, voice comically low and deadpan. It was clear he was mocking Izumi, but the reality was a bit more attention-grabbing. Abe looked to Izumi, calculating carefully. He’d seen the mechanic last night, smoking on Big Windup’s shoulder in the open ocean breeze of the Shatterdome that shouldn’t have been there. It was _late_ , though he had no idea exactly _how_ late. For Izumi then to have come up into the Simulator and rewired the whole thing to the point of knowing exactly whether it could go wrong or not...

“Izumi-kun, are... you okay?” Mihashi asked in a small voice, hand lifting tentatively just a hair before falling uselessly to his side. Abe wanted to _laugh_ at the thought.

Izumi, however, didn’t seem to share Abe’s humor. He just lifted a hand and ruffled Mihashi’s hair, nodding once. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just. I’ll let you two know what I find out about this. Just remember - only one Drift a day. The last thing we need is for you two to get out of commission too.”

Without a second look back, Izumi stalked off out the door and into the hall, closing it behind him without a slam and yet somehow making the barrier seem equally as final. Abe stared at the metal for a moment longer, then shook his head. Izumi would be as internal as he desired until the moment he decided that whatever was running through his head was deemed shareable, and until that time, it would just be a headache to try and interfere. Instead, he looked down to Mihashi, putting a hand on his shoulder to try and assuage some of the wrinkles between his copilot’s eyebrows.

“Hey, you wanna grab some lunch?” he asked, and Mihashi sighed once, sharply, before nodding. Abe grinned; Mihashi was always easy for food. But as quickly as it picked up, Mihashi’s face fell again.

“Y-yeah, but first I - I should call Ruri, and my mom,” he said, fingers tangling in the fabric around his pockets before he fished out his phone. “They’re probably - worried, so...”

The guilt wracked Abe’s gut as quickly as if Mihashi had punched him there. Fuck, his _parents_. _Shun._ He hadn’t even thought to check up on them to make sure they’d gotten out okay, hadn’t even let his mind go there. “Yeah, that’s - good idea. I’ll meet you in the cafeteria?”

Mihashi nodded weakly, then slipped out, fingers already darting through his phone to pull up the number he was going to call first. Mihashi followed him out into the hall with one last nod to Hamada, sighing fondly at Mihashi’s bizarre movements. He pulled out his own phone, nausea twisting his gut as he slowly pulled up the contact for his mother.

His feet brought him to the far end of the hallway, and he turned down the hall, seeking as private a place as he could. He finally settled on a corner of the base, walls lined with glass and overlooking a breathtaking view of Tokyo Bay. The water glistened in the sunlight, sparkling beautifully and highlighting the distant buildings of Tokyo and Saitama far behind them. It was a gorgeous day, summer raring and baseball season in its early breaths. Taking in a deep breath, Abe hit the call button.

The phone rang, then rang, and Abe felt his fingers tighten painfully around the phone until there was a click and, “ _Taka._ ”

Relief washed over Abe so hard and so fast, he felt himself collapse backwards against the walls, tears springing to his eyes. “Hey, Mom,” he managed, voice thick and heavy in his throat. He swallowed, throat clicking painfully. “Are you, uh, you and Dad and Shun okay?”

“Oh, _Taka,_ ” his mother cooed, voice breaking softly on the other end of the line. “We’re - We’re fine, we’re safe. You saved us, baby. You did such a good job.”

Abe brought a hand up to his face to try and wipe away the tears falling quickly to his cheeks. He ended up smudging them more than wiping them away, breath caught in his throat and fighting at a hiccup that threatened to raise. “B-But. You’re okay,” he repeated.

“Yes, sweetheart. We’re fine. We got out and into a bunker before you were even deployed.” His mother laughed, a wet, pained sound. “Guess the alarms at that base are a little better than the ones in town, huh?”

“Something like that,” Abe said, trying to breathe steadily. “We - We gotta know, y’know, early, so we can. So we can get out there. It’s a slightly more efficient system than the one in the cities, because of the funding we get and the fact that we’re connected to the instruments and the city has to go through the system before it can - ” Abe cut himself off, feeling the way he was sinking into technicalities. He didn’t want that, not right now. Not any more than he wanted to tell her about Mizutani, about how he’d lost a friend, how his friends had lost a friend, how he wasn’t sure he was really ever going to be able to look whoever Striker Cleanup’s new mechanic was going to be in the face without grimacing in the sheer _wrongness_. “Did Shun get back to school okay?”

“Yeah, he left this morning,” his mother said. “You should send him a mail, Taka. It would mean a lot.”

Abe thought about his empty inbox, thought about Mihashi’s constant texting with his friends and family, the way Mihashi had thought to call his parents right away and Abe hadn’t. He swallowed thickly, using his forearm to wipe at his eyes and dry them as much as he could. “Yeah, I’ll do that,” he choked out, throat aching from the effort of keeping himself together in public. The last thing he needed was for some cadet to walk by and see a Ranger crying. “I’ve gotta go meet Mihashi for lunch, but tell Dad I said hi, okay?”

“Yeah, I will. And it was really nice meeting him, Taka. Mihashi-kun is a very sweet boy,” his mother said, smile obvious through the line. “I hope next time we’ll have more time to spend to get to know him. Take care, sweetheart. Be safe.”

Abe grunted in agreement and hung up the phone, letting his head fall back and hit the wall behind him. He took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, limbs feeling both achingly heavy and yet infinitely lighter. He opened his eyes, looked out to see the gulls flirting on the ocean wind, then looked back down at his phone with renewed initiative.

[Abe Takaya]  
[12:15pm: Have a save trip back to school, dork. Thanks for coming.]

He shot off the text, knowing that Shun had a habit of falling asleep on the train and probably wouldn’t get it for another couple of hours. He then pocketed his phone and used the base of his hands to wipe at his face, pulling himself together as best as he could. Then, spinning on one heel, he walked down towards the hall towards the elevator. The button lit up, humming faintly as the lift came to his floor. When the doors parted, it was blessedly empty, so he stepped on and checked out his reflection after pushing the door for the cafeteria. He looked rough, but no worse than expected. If anything, he actually looked better than he had that morning when he’d been unable to even _look_ at himself.

The trip down to the cafeteria was a breeze, and Abe wasn’t surprised to find that the mood in the cavernous room was nowhere near the bustling thundercloud of activity it usually was. There was still an obnoxious noise-level, but there were more soldiers hunched over, faces staring blankly at trays, more than one poking at food that Abe suspected wouldn’t get eaten. He remembered, then, that Mizutani wasn’t the only one who had died, that there had been three casualties total, and more than a few injuries. Izumi’s wrist was still bound tight, and Abe spotted a cast around someone’s ankle at one of the closer tables. He turned his face away, suddenly sick at his stomach and wondering if _he_ was going to be able to get his lunch down.

“A-Abe-kun!” Abe looked up when he heard his name being called, and he spotted Mihashi in the line, one hand pushing along his tray and the other lifted into the air. He raised his hand as well to show Mihashi he’d seen him, then flashed his ID to the cashier and took his place in line. Today’s meal was rice and some kind of beef stir fry, and Abe exhaled, hoping he’d be able to get it down.

His eyes tracked where Mihashi was headed, spotting Tajima and Hanai down at the end of one of the far tables, sitting by themselves. There was a feeling of _no_ that wracked him from head to toe, already anticipating the heavy cloud of negativity that was going to be hovering about Hanai and Tajima and hating that he had no idea what to say, how to say anything to make it better. He was shitty at conversation on a good day, and today - today was not a good day.

Abe grabbed his food and a glass of water and made his way, however, determined to do what he could. If it had been him, if it had been Izumi that had - or Sakaeguchi, or, god _forbid,_ _Mihashi_ \- he wouldn’t want anyone around him. But he watched carefully as Mihashi settled in across from Tajima, watched Tajima’s face brighten just a little, watched as Hanai’s face cleared just a bit from the bleak nothingness that had captured it before. He gathered himself, tapping a finger on the side of his tray, then made to join his friends.

“Hey,” he said, sitting across from Hanai and earning a soft grunt of a greeting. “How’re you holding up?”

“About as well as could be expected,” Hanai answered, the same voice coming out of his mouth that Abe recognized from his media presentations. A front, a formal facade covering up what was beneath. “Tajima’s about to drive me absolutely crazy but - but I get it. I know what he’s doing.”

“What am I doing?” Tajima said, mouth half-filled with rice, the other half of his bite speckled around his lips.

“You’re trying to be a little shit to distract me,” Hanai snapped. “I really don’t know _why_ you think I can’t see what you’re doing.”

Tajima’s head tilted, tongue darting out to grab the bits of rice that had missed his mouth. “Well, we can’t be moping around.”

“I _know_ that - ”

“No, I don’t think you really do,” Tajima interrupted, dropping his chopsticks to his tray and eyes as serious as Abe had ever seen them. “Mizutani’s dead, yeah, but so are two other people we knew. So are hundreds of thousands of civilians who counted on Jaeger Pilots. We’re not the only ones suffering, but we _are_ the ones who signed up for it. So yeah, get a grip, Azusa. I’m trying to make you annoyed because it’s a better facade for everyone else than what you were trying to pull at breakfast.”

Hanai’s jaw clenched shut, and he glared down at the bowl of rice half-eaten in front of him. “I _know_ that,” he bit out, fingers tight around his chopsticks and face pale and sick. Abe looked over to Mihashi, who was looking at him with an awkward expression on his face. Abe blinked once, then looked over to Hanai, then to Tajima, watching as they had a silent conversation that was possible only with knowing each other as well as they did.

After a few breaths, Hanai exhaled sharply, picking up another bite of rice and stuffing it in his mouth. The tension melted from the table, Tajima kicking at Mihashi’s feet in front of him as a grin took over his face as if he’d never had those words come out of his mouth or the thoughts cross his mind. It was a little disconcerting, watching the way Tajima could project the kind of face like he hadn’t lost a friend yesterday and if Abe didn’t know any better, he’d say it hadn’t phased him in the slightest.

A hand on his thigh had him realizing that he’d been bouncing his leg a bit, and he looked over to see Mihashi’s palm placed gently on him, just above the knee. His leg settled, and he glanced up to Mihashi’s face to see that his copilot wasn’t looking at him, was focusing instead on getting the last vestiges of rice out of the bottom of his bowl. An overwhelming fondness welled up in Abe’s chest, and it had him saying, “Hey, wanna go pitch after lunch?”

Mihashi’s face jerked to his, bright and excited like Abe hadn’t seen since the graduation ceremony, but before Mihashi could answer, Tajima was leaning over the table, hand raised in the air. “Oooh, I wanna play too! I haven’t hit since I left Boys! Come _onnn_!”

Next to him, Hanai rolled his eyes. “Idiot, you don’t have a bat.”

“Let’s go to the PX! I bet they have one!” Tajima said, and Hanai sighed, seeing that he was obviously defeated before he even started the battle.

“Y-yeah, I wanna - ! Abe-kun, can we - ?” Mihashi started, and Abe looked at Hanai and Tajima and groaned internally.

“Sure, but I’m not doing any catching for anyone besides you without gear,” he said, horrified at the mental image of a foul tip going into his face. He’d gotten a little spoiled catching for Mihashi, he realized, thinking about the times when he used to climb into his catcher’s gear before squaring off in front of Haruna, literally trembling at the expectation of pain. It was a lifetime away from his battery with Mihashi, crouching without gear, no signs, glove up and knowing without a word that the pitch he expected was going to come and come to _that_ spot.

The four of them took their trays to the drop off area before heading down to the PX, making a bee line towards the sports gear. While Tajima and Hanai grabbed a couple of bats and inspected them, Abe snagged a helmet for both him and Mihashi, and a thin set of catcher’s gear. It wasn’t as nice as the set he’d had back when he was playing, a far cry from the leather that had been his birthday present from beaming, proud smiles, but it would work for a game or two of three at bat. Mihashi picked up a bag of balls, and with that, they all went to the checkout counter, arms laden with gear and hearts desperate for a moment of lightness again.

“So, where should we go?” Hanai asked, carrying the bat he’d picked out for himself and sliding the helmet in his hand over his shaved head. Abe looked to Mihashi, who wiggled in his shoes before he gasped and pointed at Tajima.

“Oh, yeah the old field,” Tajima said, somehow managing to get _that_ out of whatever the hell Mihashi had just done. “On the other side of the old parking lot, there’s a field where they used to have an outdoor track for the basic training. It’s not big enough for an actual game, probably, but it’ll work for us as long as we don’t hit the balls too far.”

Abe let the smug smirk cross his face as he tugged the catcher’s helmet on his head. “As if you’ll hit _anything_ ,” he said, watching as Hanai squawked, scandalized, and Mihashi got dazzled stars in his eyes. “Come on, Mihashi, we’ve got outs to collect.”

“Y-You - !” Hanai bit out. “Okay, _no_ , I’m going to _destroy you_.”

“You can try!” Mihashi retorted, looking to Abe for praise Abe was too-happy to give in the form of a thumb’s up.

The old parking lot was just on the other side of the base, and on the other side of that was the field Tajima had mentioned. It was a little overgrown with grass, a little too sandy for an actual baseball field, but he was right - it would definitely work for their purposes. Abe nodded, then went up to Mihashi, slinging an arm around his neck and bringing their faces close together.

“So, I know normally we don’t use signs, but I’m going to use them, okay? We’re trying to get them out, and I think it’ll be easier if we try to focus on that instead of reading each other,” he said. Mihashi nodded quickly, looking about as pleased as if Abe had told him they had already won. His old catcher never used signs, Abe remembered, tapping him once on the helmet with his mitt before he jogged over to where Hanai was swinging his bat to warm up. “Ready to lose?” he asked as Hanai walked up, earning a muttered trail of curses in response.

Looking at Mihashi from the other side of a batter sent a shiver down Abe’s spine not too unlike the one he knew from the moments just before the Drift. Their gazes locked together, and Abe felt the wicked grin on his face before he looked up to Hanai. Long arms, long body, standing a little close to Abe - he’d never be able to catch up to a ball on the inside. Abe made the sign - _curve, lower left -_ then set up his glove.

“Striiiike!” Tajima called out, looking at Hanai with a lazy grin. Abe, for his part, held onto the sound that the ball made when it hit his mitt like it was a precious present. _Nothing_ sounded quite like a strike after the swish of a baseball bat. “Are you even looking for the ball?”

“Sh-shut up,” Hanai stuttered, a touch of pink rising on his cheekbones. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had an at bat?”

“Uh, a little over a year. We went to the cages that one time last year, remember? Down in Tokyo?”

Hanai made a soft noise of agreement, though his attention had returned to Mihashi. Abe set up for another inside, this time another curve on the upper inside. Hanai missed that one as well, and when Abe called for a fastball straight down the middle, he was out.

“What the _hell_ was that?!” Hanai demanded, looking down to where Abe felt about as proud of his pitcher as one catcher could be. “That pitch - it rose!”

“You’re just seeing things, Hanai,” Tajima said, fingers rolling along a wave down the length of the baseball bat. “Come on, I wanna hit the ball before I grow so old my dick falls off.”

“You jerkin’ it so much’ll make that happen long before your wrinkles,” Hanai muttered, and Abe grunted, wishing beyond measure he hadn’t heard that. Instead, he sank down into his crouch and proceeded to get a second and third out from a spluttering, indignant Hanai.

“My turn, my turn!” Tajima said, giving Hanai his glove and pointing past Mihashi. “You go into the infield. Get ready to run for when I hit the big one!”

Abe watched Hanai jog off, face red with embarrassment. He then looked to Mihashi and nodded, hoping he understood _we’re going to get hit but that’s okay, don’t panic, we want him to get an easy out, let him hit it_. He was going to pull for the strike out, just because he wanted Mihashi to feel that pleasure, but just in case, just in case he wanted to be sure. Mihashi blinked at him, and Abe sighed, unsure if Mihashi got the message but unwilling to go up and say it with words.

Tajima set up much more solidly than Hanai, the sign that he had indeed been the cleanup for a very prestigious team. Abe started Mihashi softly, letting Tajima watch the ball - and sure enough, Tajima let the ball pass, eyes wide and laser-focused to measure the trajectory. Abe hid his grin; too easy.

It was a mere six minutes later that Tajima finally made contact with the ball right into where Hanai was standing, glove open and ready to accept the third and final out. Tajima whined out loud, bringing the bat up to his forehead and then breaking out into delighted laughter.

“That was the _best_ thing _ever!_ ” he said, dropping his bat and running up to grab Mihashi in a giant hug. “I’m gonna spend every day of the rest of my life practicing to hit that pitch, so we hafta play _all_ the time, okay?”

“O-Okay!” Mihashi said, nodding, face pink with delight and smile as wide as it was the day he and Abe had been announced as pilots. Abe watched the exchange as he stood, stretching out his quads and shaking his feet to get the blood back to them. He pulled the helmet off his head and ran a hand through his once-again sweaty hair, puffing out a breath.

“All right, come on, Mihashi. We should go back and shower before we do our reports. Marshal gave us until 1700 hours, but I’d like to go over our last drop with you tonight, too.”

Mihashi looked up and bobbed his head in agreement, holding his mitt close to his chest as he pranced up to Abe’s side. Over his shoulder, Hanai was dodging where Tajima seemed to be trying to jump up on his back and give him a knuckle noogie, though it could also have been just Tajima trying to reach the top of Hanai’s head. Abe shook his head and started walking back towards the base, fond smile clinging to his face.

They walked back to the base in a comfortable silence, and Abe felt relaxed for the first time all day. His body ached pleasantly from having been put through some serious paces, but it was the best kind of way, the kind of way that reminded him that he was alive, that he was here for another day, that he could keep going and do things like play baseball with friends like he was just another guy and not the savior of the human population standing behind him. He glanced at Mihashi just in time to catch him glancing away, smile pulling at his lips. Abe smiled as well, bumping Mihashi’s shoulder once as they stood waiting for the elevator to come pick them up.

“First shower?” he offered when they entered their room, and Mihashi nodded, dropping off his things by their bed. Abe went and grabbed a glass of water to rehydrate, listening to the ambient noises of Mihashi getting a pair of boxers to bring into the bathroom as well as a clean towel. Abe took a seat on the couch, exhaling as he delighted in the time to finally sit down after a long, hard day. He looked over to see the remote on the far side of the couch, and it seemed like too much effort to reach over and grab it, so instead, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back as he settled into a more comfortable position.

The sound of the shower coming on filled the room, drowning out the gentle hum of the overhead light and the light footsteps from a floor above. Abe let his ears focus on the sounds, heard the soft flop of clothes hitting the floor. Mihashi always did have a way of just tossing his clothes around messily, he thought, smile ghosting his face. The shower door opened, then closed, and the water sloshed heavily as Mihashi’s body interrupted the stream. The sound of a plastic cap being popped open barely hit Abe’s ears, and Abe thought back to that morning and the way he could smell Mihashi’s fancy shampoo, the way the herbal softness of it had filled his nose and made him almost dizzy with closeness.

The water rushed again, and Abe pictured Mihashi washing the suds out of his hair, eyes squinted shut to keep them from getting shampoo in them. The next sound was another pop of a plastic bottle, though this time Abe wasn’t sure what it was. He tried to remember if Mihashi had a bottle of conditioner in the shower, or if maybe it was some kind of shower gel. His skin was always really smooth, but his hair was also always soft, so it could be either one. He wondered if Mihashi was standing there, back arched under the hot foray of water, fingers massaging conditioner into his hair, or if instead he had his fingers slicked up with shower gel, trailing it over taut skin.

Mouth suddenly dry, Abe licked his lips as he decided that Mihashi was probably using the shower gel. He would probably be thinking about not wanting to use up all the hot water, even though here that was never a problem. He would be thinking about Abe, thinking about there being enough hot water for him, thinking about how Abe should have a nice, hot shower too, thinking about... thinking about Abe, thinking about how he looked in the morning all ruffled, thinking about how Abe always used the hem of his shirts to wipe his face after a tough workout, how his stomach would ripple and tense with the movement and send Mihashi’s skin burning bright. Oh fuck, Abe thought, fingertips tingling and stomach quivering as he realized his breath was picking up, dick hardening in his pants. He wanted - he needed to -

Abe reached down, palm flat on his stomach, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he let his hand drift down. He thumbed open the button on his pants, slid down the zipper, and let his fingertips flirt with the waistband of his boxer briefs. He thought about Mihashi, thought about him in the shower, thought about Mihashi’s hand covered in shower gel taking the exact same path at the exact same pace, mirroring each other here like they did in the Kwoon Combat Room. He thought - thought about Mihashi thinking about _him_ , wondering if - what if Mihashi was in there, right now, long, calloused fingers curling around his dick as he pictured Abe doing the same on the couch, using his slick hand on himself as he stroked himself to the thought of Abe out here. If he was fantasizing about Abe fantasizing about _him_.

“Shit,” he whispered, chest filled with air and yet body screaming for it, gripping his cock hard as he shivered his way through a single, unsteady stroke. “Shit, shit, _shit.”_ He squeezed his eyes closed even more, thought about the face Mihashi would make while jerking off in the shower, thought about Mihashi closing his eyes and biting his forearm to keep the noises from bouncing off the tile back into the room. He had no idea what Mihashi’s cock looked like, but his mind filled in a beautiful picture, took in the angle of Mihashi’s wrist and the way his eyelashes would flutter while he thought about Abe dropping to his knees in the locker room and sucking him off. And _fuck_ , but he would, he wouldn’t ever but he _would,_ if Mihashi just - put his hand on Abe’s shoulder and pushed, just a little. He thought about that morning, thought about how it must have looked to Mihashi - Abe dropping to his knees, reaching forward, going easy as breathing into him.

Abe bit his lower lip hard when he felt a whine crawl up the back of his throat, eyes watering as he stroked harder, faster, pictured Mihashi doing the same in the shower, teeth sinking into his arm, face flushing prettily as his hand slipped through shower gel and sweat and precum, legs quivering as he tried to stand up, mind chanting Abe’s name over and over. Abe quivered hard, dick wet and mind filling with the image of Mihashi in the shower as a taste of gold sparked behind his eyelids. He fucked his hips up hard as he came, hand collecting as much as it could even as he was paralyzed with orange blossoms and herbal shampoo and the sound of a fan in the high summer ringing in his ears. His whole body tightened into his orgasm, wave after wave of heat knocking him loose almost as well as getting knocked to the ground by a Kaiju had.

It took him a moment to fall back into his body, skin too tight over the cage underneath and languid warmth spilling from his head down to his toes. He slowly released his lower lip, ran a tongue over the smooth indentations his teeth had left there. His right hand was filthy, fingers threaded with the sticky mess that had his face burning bright red. That had - fuck, that had just happened, he realized, rubbing his right thumb over his fingertips and staring in a disembodied shock at the come there. Then, he remembered that Mihashi was in the shower, fuck, _fuck_ what if he’d -

The shower water turned off just as Abe stood and wiped his hand on his shirt, then pulled it off and rolled it into a ball. He zipped up his pants and buttoned them back up again, desperately hoping that the warmth he felt wasn’t too obvious in some kind of sex flush or something. He knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything about his face - that had been one of the best orgasms he’d ever had, and there was no _way_ his eyes didn’t look all fucked out - so he’d just have to push past Mihashi and get into the shower as quickly as he could, hope his copilot  didn’t notice.

There was a bit of messing around in the bathroom and Abe hovered hear the door, heart in his throat as his muscles contracted to be in perfect position to dash into the bathroom to wash away the evidence that he’d fucking _jerked off_ to _Mihashi_. He cleared his throat, swallowing heavily, toes curling against the hardness of the floor and tongue running back and forth over his abused lower lip to try and soothe it into normalcy.

The bathroom door opened after what felt like an eternity, steam billowing out and a pink-faced Mihashi standing in the doorway. He squawked, jolting when he realized Abe was hovering near the doorway. “A-Abe-kun - !?”

“Sorry,” Abe said, moving to take a step back and let Mihashi get past. Mihashi put a hand over his chest as if to calm his racing heart, then shot Abe one last bizarre look before he rested his hand on the doorway to slip by. Abe dutifully avoided making eye contact, painfully aware that _I jerked off to you_ might be somehow written on his face. He sighed, closing his eyes as Mihashi got into his space and he got a full whiff of Mihashi’s herbal shampoo. He opened them again, looked to make sure Mihashi was out of the way before he shoved into the bathroom to wash away every second of the last however many minutes he’d spent embarrassing himself -

Abe’s heart stopped, eyes wide, whole body suddenly, perfectly still.

On Mihashi’s forearm was a single, perfect bite mark.

 

 


	24. inhalation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there's this cool manga y'all should check out. it's called oofuri and it's about baseball or something

 

It wasn’t until Abe, _stunned_ , had shut the bathroom door robotically behind himself that he let his brain really sink into what the absolute _fuck_ had just happened. His hands came up to clutch the side of the porcelain sink, eyes staring unseeing into the fogged mirror from Mihashi’s shower - _Mihashi’s shower_ , during which Mihashi had - Mihashi had - 

No. _No._ No way, Abe thought, gaze falling to the drain in the sink as his stomach continued to twist itself into one thousand different knots. He must have just - stubbed a toe and bitten himself to keep from cursing out, or - or something, and Abe had just - seen it? Earlier? And somehow it had worked itself into his sexual fantasy? He exhaled a jagged breath, leg bouncing uncomfortably as he bit the inside of his cheek. That had to be it. That _had_ to be it. The alternative - The alternative was - 

The alternative was _impossible_. 

Abe sucked in a breath, stiffly, blindly reaching over and turning on the hot water for the shower. He jerked his stare to his fingers, still a bit sticky from the come he’d only gotten off with his shirt, watched how they paled around his nails from how tightly he was gripping the chrome knob, studied the muscles playing in his hand as he pulled it back to his side, watched the skin pull over veins that pumped and bones that shifted for the movement. He closed his eyes, counting to ten and then exhaling. He was real. He was in his own body, not someone else’s, and no one else was in his body. 

He wasn’t Drifting.

The steam billowed at the ceiling of the bathroom by the time he was finally sure his knees wouldn’t shake apart beneath him, causing him to fall and get _another_ concussion. He grabbed the bottle of shampoo and lathered up his hair a little more roughly than needed, focusing on the way he could feel the scrape of _his_ nails against _his_ scalp under the hot water of _his_ shower. He washed it out, following the tickle of suds down his back as far as his skin would register, then followed up with the bar of soap across the washcloth, feeling the roughness of cotton beneath the pads of his fingers, watching the bubbles grow, smelling the cheap cleanliness of standard issue. 

Beneath it still, though, he could smell the herbal remains of Mihashi’s shampoo, and his eyes opened to see the same white tile he’d imagined Mihashi coming all over, still had burned on the backs of his eyelids the bite mark he’d definitely, unquestionably seen on Mihashi’s forearm. He scrubbed at his skin harder, until it was pink and just shy of tender.

He stood there under the foray, waited about as long as he could before Mihashi would undoubtedly come banging on the door to ask if he was drowning himself before he turned off the water. He stood there for a moment, letting the steam fill his lungs through slow, deep breaths, expanded his chest with each breath consciously until he finally opened the door and snagged a towel. He dried off, wrapping the towel around his waist before flipping off the light switch and stepping out into their room. Judging from the way the lights in the room were out, save for the ambient light from what looked to be Mihashi’s phone where he was lying in his bed already, Mihashi was more than ready to call it a day. Abe agreed silently, making his way over to their dresser to pull on a pair of pajama pants before crawling into bed.

“Night, Abe-kun,” Mihashi said after a second, and Abe sighed out a response, somehow terribly exhausted, out of nowhere. He suddenly remembered his early morning abuse on the treadmill on top of the two three at bat’s he’d run with Hanai and Tajima, probably a little more stressful than his typical pitching session with Mihashi since that had become as easy as breathing for the two of them. That, plus the fact that he’d jerked off for the first time since he’d come to Nishiura - it was no wonder he was about ready to conk out.

Despite that, his mind wouldn’t turn off, eyes still wide on the metal coils above him holding Mihashi’s body in what looked like a tight fetal position from below. He couldn’t get the bite mark on Mihashi’s arm out of his head, couldn’t _not_ see it when he closed his eyes. He exhaled again, then opened them when a thought came to his mind. 

He stared at the bottom of Mihashi’s bunk for a second, then closed his eyes again, focusing on his breathing, and then letting his mind reach out instead of trying to focus so hard on his own self. He imagined the golden foil Mihashi’s brain always painted in his mind when they Drifted, pictured the absolute ecstatic comfort Drifting with Mihashi brought, the way it was like sinking into a hot bath after a long day of training camp, up to his ears in steaming hot water that soothed out all the kinks in his muscles. Mihashi’s sunshine-warm Drift, even just in his mind, not in the Pons, soothed him, had his whole body falling slack into his bed as he was finally able to relax into something a little less tight with stress. 

And then, just like on the couch earlier, he let himself sink into it, let his mind fall into the daydream of Drifting with Mihashi. He pictured Mihashi sleeping above him, imagined a dream of dusty fields, cloudless skies, and the sweet, painfully good sound of a baseball hitting a mitt. The taste of lemon water danced on his palate, mixing with the saltiness of sweat and the feel of a baseball jersey shifting over sun-heated skin.

A sudden alarm jerked Abe awake, and his eyes flew open, reaching over to grope for his phone on the dresser next to their bunkbeds. His eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness in their dark room, and he exhaled sharply when he saw that it was his alarm for them to get up. Somewhere, in the middle of thinking about dreaming, he’d fallen asleep.

Mihashi mumbled something unintelligible as he sat up, sliding off the top bunk in such a manner that his shirt rode up and his upper body dragged against the mattress. “Brk’fs’t,” he grumbled, the one word that Abe could actually understand, sort of. He sat up himself, watching as Mihashi teetered over to their kitchenette and following suit. He scratched his stomach as he padded over, flipping on the overhead light and wincing into the harsh artificial light that poured over the both of them.

“Eggs,” Mihashi said, reaching down to their mini fridge and grabbing a handful of them. He broke them into a bowl, using a fork to whisk them with a deft wrist. Abe watched for a second before he decided his need to piss was greater than his desire to see Mihashi’s impressive cooking skill. His bladder relieved, he washed his hands, only to pause when Mihashi’s phone trilled through the half-closed door. 

“Mihashi, your phone,” Abe called, walking out and shaking the excess water off his hands while he did so. Mihashi blinked at him, then squawked, abandoning the bowl of egg yolks to scramble over to his phone. Abe watched, one eye on Mihashi digging for his phone in his sheets and the other on the way the pan was threatening to smoke without anything cooking in it.

“H-Hello? Ruri?” Mihashi said, and Abe decided to put both eyes on the stove instead of just one. The bowl of eggs, perfectly whisked, sat next to the stove, fork still in them and pan invitingly hot. He could totally do this, right? “I’m okay. I just woke up and I was making - ohhhhhhh no - ”

Mihashi’s low warble came as Abe lifted the bowl of whisked eggs, about to pour them into the pan. He looked over his shoulder to see Mihashi’s absolutely distressed expression, and with a evil smirk, he tipped the bowl and watched all the color drop from Mihashi’s face.

“N-no, I’m fine, just - Abe-kun, stir, stir!” Mihashi gestured, before apparently having to physically turn around. Abe scowled at the fact that Mihashi couldn’t bear to watch, putting his attention back on the eggs while they cooked to show Mihashi that yes, he _could_ cook for them, and _no_ , he wasn’t _completely_ useless. He looked around, eyes landing on a wooden spoon he’d seen Mihashi use for the eggs before, and did as Mihashi had pleaded, stirring gently. “Oh, Kanou-kun’s game? And Dad’s going too?”

Eggs cooked _really_ fast, Abe despaired, watching as they went from runny to just a little solid in just a few seconds. His gut told him to leave them in the pan, let them cook until they looked normal, but he’d cooked by Mihashi’s side enough times to know that his copilot took them off when they were still a bit runny and they always ended up perfect on the plate. Unfortunately, Mihashi also always had their plates ready to go, and Abe didn’t, causing him to scramble to get a couple down. 

“P… Probably not. We don’t, uh, we don’t exactly get time off,” Mihashi said, approaching from where he’d been standing next to their bunk beds and hovering over Abe’s shoulder like a hawk. Abe shooed him away, plating their eggs with the browner parts down so at least they _looked_ nice. He then grabbed a couple pieces of bread, putting them in the toaster and popping them down. The toaster, at least, had a timer and wouldn’t betray him by cooking too long when he didn’t have everything perfectly in place. 

“Tell Kanou-kun I said good luck,” Mihashi said, and Abe watched out of the corner of his eye as Mihashi flinched and held the phone away from his ear, a female voice shouting loudly enough at him that Abe could just make out a _“tell him yourself!”_ coming from Mihashi’s cousin. “Right, love you too. Bye, Ruri.”

Mihashi stuck his phone in his pocket, reaching around Abe to grab the salt shaker and give it a few shakes over both their plates of eggs. Whoops. “Ruri?” Abe asked, knowing but trying to make conversation to get Mihashi’s mind off the fact that the eggs were definitely overdone.

“Yeah, she, um, you know… she’s graduating the day after tomorrow and wanted to know if I could make it. My dad’s going to go since he’s close for work, and then, Kanou-kun - my friend, Kanou-kun, from before - pitching, in a game, that is, so, she’s - ” Mihashi’s speech was even more broken than usual as he tried to try and fit one thousand different bits of information into one mouthful of Japanese. Abe found himself oddly coherent, all the same, and he nodded, handing Mihashi the last of their strawberries to cut up while he reached for the jam for their toast.

“He has a game that day?” Abe asked, and Mihashi nodded, somehow, magically managing to cut the green stems off the strawberries without sacrificing any of the fruit. Abe watched him carefully enough, trying to figure it out, to miss the toast and instead wipe a nice slab of jam on his thumb.

“Y-yeah, but - we can’t, so,” Mihashi sighed, looking absolutely despondent from the news that he couldn’t watch his childhood friend pitch. “Mostly, though, I’m sad because… I don’t see my dad that often, so…”

Abe finished wiping the jam off his thumb to look at his copilot, carefully taking in what Mihashi had just said and trying to work out a response. “Work?” he asked, deciding to go for the less-is-more approach. Mihashi nodded, and Abe mirrored the motion, artfully arranging the toast on the two plates while Mihashi piled the strawberry slices high. “Well, will the game be broadcasted anywhere?”

Mihashi perked up at the suggestion, head tilting as he snagged a plate. “I - don’t know? Can we - ?” Mihashi asked, glancing at Abe through golden eyelashes. 

“We get a couple local channels, so if it’s being broadcasted, we might,” Abe answered, leading the way to the table. He pulled his chair out and sat down without much delicacy, as opposed to Mihashi who placed his plate down then tucked gently beneath the surface. Abe glanced down at their breakfast, noting that it was a little less pretty than when Mihashi was the one to take charge of their eggs but still managing to look edible. He felt his chest swell with pride at the fact that _he_ had been the one to cook while Mihashi had been on the phone, as well as a bit of pride that Mihashi had _let_ him.

Halfway through the meal, Mihashi looked up to Abe, fiddling with his fork and looking anxious. “After… do you think we should…?” he trailed off, and Abe stared, waiting for him to finish the sentence. “Should we Drift? Since - only once - ”

Abe took the moment to swallow his food, sipping from his glass of water as he poked the last of his eggs around. “I guess?” he said, before huffing, annoyed at their circumstances. “I hate that we’re only allowed to Drift once a day… Maybe we can get some information on the time of day most Kaiju attacks happen so we can maximize our changes to go into the Simulator without one attacking after.”

“Nishihiro-san - !” Mihashi chirped, spine straightening as he perked up. “He would know, if, if anyone would!”

Abe tapped his thumb to the side of his jaw, staring thoughtfully into the distance before he took another bite of strawberries. “Yeah, he would,” Abe agreed, wondering if they’d be able to get that information or if it was somehow top secret. Then again, he thought, looking to Mihashi with a slow swelling in his chest, they were Jaeger pilots now. There wasn’t a whole lot they wouldn’t have clearance to see, especially if they made the case that it would make them _better_ Jaeger pilots. “Let’s… let’s go to the Simulator after breakfast. We’ll see Izumi there, and we can talk to him about getting a meeting with Nishihiro.”

Mihashi nodded, then took his fork to his plate like he was starving, clearing it in record time. Abe shook his head fondly, finishing the rest of his meal at a fast but not _that_ fast pace. He wasn’t interested in throwing it back up again, after all. Once he was finished, he grabbed Mihashi’s plate, bringing it over to the kitchenette to drop it off in the sink while Mihashi walked over to the dresser and grabbed some regular clothes. Abe ran some water over the plates so they wouldn’t be as big of a pain in the ass to wash later, though when he swapped places with Mihashi to get dressed, he heard the water running again and turned back to see Mihashi up to his elbows in sudsy water. For a split second, he let his eyes slide down Mihashi’s arm, curiosity settling heavily in his gut if - if _it_ was still there - but he quickly shook his head, feeling warmth pool in his cheeks as he turned back to the dresser and finished pulling his clothes into place. 

When he was finished, he pulled out his cell phone and shot a quick text over to Izumi to let him know that he and Mihashi were going to head over to the Simulator. Almost immediately, _fuck u abe i told u to shoot for afternoons_ , and _u owe me_ came back, followed by _sadist. asshole. jackass. demon._ a moment later. Abe felt the smirk pull at his lips, but he hid it by biting his lower lip while he dried the dishes Mihashi handed him.

Finally, Abe walked over to their door, grabbing his keys and pulling on his boots. He tied them up, watching as Mihashi did the same, before opening their door so Mihashi could walk out of it first. Abe shut their door, locking it behind them and then following Mihashi to the elevator. Mihashi, as delighted as ever to be the one to push the button, rolled back from heel to toe, hands clasped behind his back as he puffed out some melody Abe didn’t recognize on muffled breaths. Abe watched him, fondness bringing him to reach over and ruffle Mihashi’s hair and earning a squawk in response. 

When the elevator came, they stepped on, riding by themselves on a typically empty cab. When it came to a stop, Mihashi all but danced out into the hallway, clearly filled to the brim with excited energy. Abe continued to follow him, alternating his attention on Mihashi to make sure the idiot didn’t trip and the other people in the hall in case one of them was Izumi and he had a chance to snag him alone before they went into the LOCCENT copycat. 

None of them were, and Mihashi and Abe made it all the way to LOCCENT without seeing Izumi in the hall. When Abe opened the door, it became clear that it was because he’d beaten them there, Izumi already chatting to one of the technicians, arms crossed as much as they could with the cast still on his wrist and a lazy lounge to his posture. 

“Hey, guys!” Hamada said, waving at them from where he was hunched over a computer and typing something. “Izumi said you wanted to Drift, so we got the system up and running for you. Go on ahead and come around, and we’ll have everything ready for ya!”

Izumi looked busy, glancing up with a wave before turning back to the technician, so Abe looked to Mihashi and jerked his head towards the direction of the locker room. Mihashi nodded, walking by Abe’s side instead of dancing ahead like he had been doing so far. 

“Third drop, third kill?” Mihashi said, eyes filled with bright stars that had Abe grinning.

“Time to extend that perfect record,” Abe agreed, exchanging a quick fist bump before the two of them stepped into the locker room and parted ways to find their lockers. Abe went to open his locker, only to pause when he noticed that for the first time, below his name, was the logo for team Big Windup. His hand raised, fingertips tracing over it with a swelling of pride deep in his gut. Cinnamon gold joy clenched through his veins at the sight of the brick wall, eyes closing as he mentally made a vow that Big Windup would be as impenetrable defense as their logo suggested. 

Supercharged now for action, Abe opened his locker and stripped, pulling the electromyograph suit into place and feeling it settle onto his body like a second skin. He turned when he had it up to his waist, knowing without seeing that Mihashi would be there, waiting with wide golden eyes and the words _five minutes_ hanging on his lips.

“Five minutes!” Mihashi chirped, and Abe flicked up on his phone screen to pull up the alarm. Five and a half minutes, he saw, tapping the button to start the timer while he threaded his fingers through Mihashi’s. He closed his eyes, let the time around him slow down as he sank into the way Mihashi crowded into his space. He inhaled gently, picked up on the herbal shampoo he knew so well now, felt the way Mihashi’s gentle curls teased at his forehead from how close they were standing. 

He remembered, for some reason, the moment when they’d been in the Kwoon Combat Room and Abe had Mihashi’s skin beneath his hands, Mihashi’s own hand lightly ghosting over the bruised side, fingers caressing beneath Abe’s waistband, the way Mihashi’s head had tilted back and Abe had lost himself a little in the golden filigree eyes so similar to the shimmer that painted his head when they Drifted. He wanted to Drift, wanted to feel Mihashi in his head, wanted to have that total lack of _anything_ between them, wanted it with an intensity that had him sucking in a startled breath that hissed just in time with the alarm going off on his phone.

“Abe-kun?” Mihashi said, voice soft between them, and Abe opened his eyes slowly, still standing exactly where he had, still only a breath away, his fingers still tangled up in Mihashi’s like their thoughts would be in a moment. Abe hesitated for a second, then blinked a few times, slowly extracting himself out of Mihashi’s space, out of _Mihashi_ , finding that for some reason, his heart was beating a little fast. 

“Huh. I didn't hear the alarm,” he said, glancing down at his phone and turning off the end of the timer. “Sorry.”

“N-no, it’s…” Mihashi said, voice trailing off as his fingers mindlessly reached down to pull his electromyograph suit into place. Abe watched pale skin disappear for a moment before he mirrored him, pulling his fingers and arms into place, zipping himself into place before he helped Mihashi with his second arm, running a finger along the nape of his neck to make sure his suit hadn’t rolled under. “Let’s go?” Mihashi asked when they were finished, and Abe nodded, taking his place to Mihashi’s left as the two of them slipped down the hallway towards where the technicians were waiting for them.

The armor went into place as seamlessly as always, Abe raising his arms on autopilot as he stared ahead and started thinking about their tether. He wondered, suddenly, if Mihashi’s chalk grid was still on the side of the base in that place where he’d magically found his pitcher, or if the chalk had long faded and left nothing behind to show that it had brought them together. He stepped into his boots, then grabbed his helmet when one of the technicians handed it over, pulling it into place and closing his eyes into the relay gel filling the space inside. It drained away, leaving the water-tight seal behind, and Abe glanced over to see Mihashi shaking out his shoulders before looking his way. With a nod, Mihashi took a step, and Abe fell in perfect concert, towards the Simulator. 

The rig was ready for them when they entered the room, lights flashing to simulate the same inside as Big Windup. Abe ignored most of them since they were just status lights, though he did let his eyes glance over them just in case some of them were part of a test. Their simulations would be different now that they had actual drop data, after all, and it wouldn’t be completely out of the norm for the Simulator to test their ability to read Big Windup’s status before a battle as well as their performance during one.

Abe stepped into the rig’s hold, boots clicking into place and the rig screwing into position. He let everything settle, glancing over at Mihashi once to see everything going at the same pace on his side as well. Mihashi snuck a look at him as well, flashing a quick smile before turning his attention to where Hamada’s voice radioed through.

“Firing up the Simulator,” Hamada announced, and Abe let his eyes focus forward as the feminine voice of the Simulator started to count down the time to the Neural Handshake. 

“Engaging pilot-to-pilot protocol sequence,” it announced, a low hum slowly filling the room. Abe closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as he let thoughts of dust and leather fill his mind. Then, just like yesterday, their Drift blossomed into place like a flower whose bud had been in Abe’s mind the whole time, opening only for the morning sun before it would fold back up for midnight’s rest. Golden filigree painted along the cave of Abe’s mind, lighting the whole thing up from inside out with a shimmering light that was as warm as a summer sun’s rays. He exhaled, chest still somehow filled with air despite the motion, until Mihashi mirrored his action a second later and both their lungs were ready to breathe again. ( _clean / cerulean blue / fast fast fast / again / breeze catching cotton sheets_ ) came through the Drift, strong and refreshing as a glass of lemon water after a hard practice.

Hamada’s voice was muffled through the intercom as he spoke to the technicians around him, and Abe could just barely hear “ _same thing again_ ” and Izumi’s “ _still fucking impossible”_ before he seemed to lean forward into the microphone to speak directly to them. “Hey, guys. Great Drift, super computer is still apparently broken since you’re still showing a time until Drift as zero.”

A spark of cinnamon flew through the Drift, and Abe wasn’t sure which one of them the sensory reaction had come from, but he agreed with it, nonetheless. He glanced to Mihashi, who was already looking at him with wide eyes. ( _Shiga-sensei…? Or Oki? / coffee with too much sugar / just enough sugar!! / cavities / sludge!!_ ) 

“We’ll ask Shiga-sensei or Oki later. Let’s bag a kill since we’re here, then rest a bit. We can talk about how we’re Drifting so fast later,” Abe said out loud, and Mihashi nodded, reaching up to relay the message over to Hamada.

“Okay, then. Yesterday was an easy kill to get you two calibrated - today we’re gonna try to run you a little harder,” Hamada said, and Abe licked his lips, feeling a touch of nerves flitter through the Drift in the form of ( _stepping into a shower before the water’s warm / biting into gritty toothpaste / chomping down on a metal fork_ ). He shrugged it off as best as he could, rolling his shoulders against the hold of the rig and squaring his stance a little better. 

“Let’s do it,” Mihashi confirmed, and as soon as his hand dropped back down to his side, the system began counting down to the beginning of the simulation. Abe felt the Pons System settling into place in their bond, as uncomfortable and foreign as ever, yet still a touch easier than it had been before. He exhaled into it, feeling the ever-so-slight weight of Big Windup pressing into their bond and letting it slither into place. 

The screen in front of them fragmented into place, and he opened his eyes into a scene he didn’t recognize. They were out in the ocean this time, waves lapping at their calves and salt thick in the air. Abe craned his neck to look towards the shore, but he didn’t recognize the skyline behind him. Annoyance ( _grapefruit / stale bread / wet floor signs_ ) tugged his face into a scowl, though he supposed it was good for them to occasionally fight Kaiju he didn’t recognize since it would make it harder for them to prepare. ( _In the real world… we won’t ever recognize the Kaiju we fight_ ) Mihashi’s thoughts trickled through, and Abe nodded, knowing Mihashi wouldn’t have to see it to know he’d done it.

Just as he settled into the location, Abe saw a flicker of movement along the horizon, heading straight for them. Abe let his knees bend slightly, feeling Big Windup move as though it were his own body. His eyes locked on the motion of the Kaiju, then information from the screen flaring up to his left came into his mind without him having to read it when Mihashi’s eyes raked over it. Category III, codename Halpido, not the largest on record nor the fastest, but fast enough.

“Take a shot, feel it out,” Abe said, raising his hands to help Mihashi guide the plasma rifle into place. A ghost of ( _foot spikes?_ ) came, but before Abe could do more than think an uncertainty, Halpido rose out of the ocean in front of them. It stood on two legs, two more large ones bearing intimidating claws and two more small ones beneath a neck lined with sharp ridges. Four eyes locked onto them, and a mouth opened to release a screech that had Abe’s heart flying to his throat and his stomach dropping to his toes. 

“Shoot!” Abe shouted, teeth gritting as Mihashi’s eyes locked onto a softness in the Kaiju’s throat and his arm took the kickback of a perfectly-placed shot. Kaiju blue splintered into the air, but Halpido merely dove forward, disappearing into the ocean and sending a wave their way.

( _Catch - !_ )

The wave washed over them, forcing them to take a step back. Halpido emerged from the crest, mouth open and claws sinking deep into Big Windup’s shoulders. Abe’s mouth dropped open from nauseating pain, flaring like lightning through their bodies ( _lemon / fire / white / claw claw use th -_ ) Abe brought his left arm forward, catching Halpido’s throat with Big Windup’s left hand and praying the prehensile claws at his wrists were enough. Alarms blazed through the cockpit, his chest heaving with movement half from screaming pain and half from terror that one of the flashing red lights in his face was something requiring him to take his attention off the Kaiju in front of him. ( _\- cut it! cut it pull pull pull pull -_ ) 

He gripped his fingers, twisting his hold on Halpido’s throat just enough. The two blades gripped tight, and with a swift movement of their left arms, Abe and Mihashi watched as Halpido’s head flew off, soaring through the air and landing in the ocean behind the rest of its body. The body sagged, bringing them down with it since the long claws were still embedded in Big Windup’s shoulders, and Abe clenched his teeth against the shudder of blackout-levels of pain down his spine. 

“K-Kneel, and they should - ” he gritted out, unable to say the rest for fear of opening his mouth and letting something other than words come out. Rotten fish and trash fire was his response, though beneath it was a glittering of citrus Abe latched onto and interpreted as confirmation. Slowly, Abe lowered himself down to his knees in concert with Mihashi, and as he’d hoped, the carapace of the Kaiju kept it upright after death and the two claws slid out of metal and left only pain as its reminder.

Abe clenched his eyes shut, trying to focus on breathing as he remained on his knees, body torn and sick from agony. Mihashi was no different, sucking in breaths through his mouth and releasing them in small hisses through chattering teeth. Then, slowly, the simulation bled away, the Pons System pulling out of their minds and leaving only the memory of the ocean behind. 

“You two okay?” Hamada’s voice called, and Abe glanced over to see Mihashi still on his knees as well, shaking from head to toe. Mihashi’s head tilted upwards, pain-hazed honey meeting his own eyes he was sure looked no better, and then, unbidden and unexpected through the waves of scraping metal and chalkboard screeching, came first a strawberry shortcake and then bubbles on the surface of a bath, and finally the sound of laughter, Mihashi’s mouth curled around the sound and filling Abe with something light and fluffy.

“Perfect record,” Mihashi said to Abe, and Abe barked out a laugh himself, hands curling on the floor before he leaned back into the rig and let his head fall back, laughter falling out and slowly replacing the searing ache of Kaiju claw in his shoulders with the way they’d kicked its ass. Sort of. The Kaiju was dead, they were alive, and they’d kept their perfect record. Then, the slow bleed of gold left his mind, receding back as seamlessly as it had bloomed forth. Just like before, there was no empty vacuum of having left the Drift, and he exhaled in relief, glad he was finally shedding the negative side effects. 

“We’ll be out soon,” Mihashi said, releasing the both of them from the rig before he led the way back towards the armor technicians. Abe followed in silence, phantom pain still lingering when he had to lift his arms for them to get to some of the pieces. He saw Mihashi glance at him out of the corner of his eye, and he shook his head, giving him a grin to show him that it was fine. Mihashi looked dubious, but he didn’t seem to want to push the matter since he didn’t say anything.

Back in the locker room, Abe started unzipping his electromyograph suit before he was even all the way to his locker, fatigue from the Drift and from fighting the Kaiju already settling into his body. He peeled it off carefully, pulling it right side out and hanging it delicately, still so hyperaware of the investment the cloth was to the base. He pulled on the casual clothes he’d worn from their room, snagging his dog tags and pulling them on last, unlike Mihashi who always put his on first then had to fish them out from his shirt later. He turned around, and sure enough, there was Mihashi, struggling to get the chain out from beneath the cotton sitting a little less loosely on his frame than it used to.

“Let’s go check in with Izumi,” Abe said, reaching over to grab Mihashi’s dog tags with one finger to pull it out and letting it smack against Mihashi’s chest. Mihashi nodded, this time following Abe as the two of them left the locker room and headed towards LOCCENT where Hamada and Izumi were undoubtedly awaiting to scratch their heads at apparently-impossible numbers. 

Instead, Abe opened the door to see the two of them scratching their heads at apparently-impossible numbers while Momoe was standing over them, face as still as stone and betraying absolutely none of whatever was going through her mind. When her eyes turned to meet Abe’s, her face changed, pulling into the confident smile she always wore, hands going to her hips as she nodding approvingly.

“Excellent work, you two. Good form in the fight and very good recovery. That Kaiju took down a Jaeger in the field when it came out, so you’re doing well!”

“Where did that one hit?” Abe asked, walking into the room and letting Izumi and Hamada work out whatever ire they were taking out on the computer in the meanwhile.

“Australia,” she answered. “A few years ago. It took two Jaegers to take it down, and we lost one in the process. Those claws are some nasty business.” Then, Momoe turned back towards Izumi and Hamada, crossing her arms once more. “Well?”

“Nope,” Izumi said, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve reprogrammed the damn thing twice. It’s not the software, so it must the hardware. My guess, it’s not picking up on the time to Drift. Might have something to do with the fact that we’re introducing the Pons System separately.”

“Wouldn’t that make it a longer time to Drift, though?” Hamada responded, and Izumi’s huffed out sigh of annoyance told Abe that this was not the first time they’d run through this line of questioning.

“Is it… really such a big deal not to have that number?” Mihashi asked, and Hamada mumbled something unintelligible before he shrugged.

“I mean, it’s not the most important number we have? Mostly we use it to gauge how fast you two can get into combat, but - ”

“I don’t like getting impossible results,” Izumi interrupted. “That means something’s wrong, and I won’t stand for it.”

Momoe nodded approvingly. “I agree. If we’re getting values that don’t make sense, we need to investigate why we’re getting those values. Something important could be hiding, good or bad, and we need all the information we can get in order to fight more effectively.” Hamada seemed to deflate at that, but he nodded nonetheless, one finger tapping on the desk next to the computer where Abe could just barely make out in a sea of nonsense a single zero. “In the mean time, Izumi-kun, how’s Nishihiro-kun coming along?”

Izumi blinked incredulously at her line of questioning, eyes wide. “Why are you asking _me_ that?”

“I was under the impression you were shadowing his work for a while,” Momoe said, and somehow, her gaze seemed more cat-like than ever, but not in a house cat way; more like a panther in the dark kind of way.

Izumi’s thick swallow showed he wasn’t the only one who noticed her change in tone. He sighed, shrugged, then said, “It seems to be going well, I guess? I can hardly understand half of what comes out of that kid’s mouth. Plus, he’s a mumbler when he works. I swear, he’s not even speaking Japanese half the time.”

Momoe hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her bicep before she seemed to release Izumi out of her claws and turned instead to Abe and Mihashi. “Well, the reason why I came down here was actually to talk to you two. I got a request for an interview with you two and wanted to know if you’d like to accept.”

Next to Abe, Mihashi squawked, mouth gaping open and closing like a fish out of water. Izumi tugged at a lock of hair, a grin coming onto his face as he slapped a hand on Mihashi’s shoulder. “I think you should do it. You get paid for it, after all, and Tajima and Hanai can give you some good tips for how to have a good interview. They’re idiots, but they look good on TV.”

“T-TV?” Mihashi warbled, looking to Abe with a glittering expression. He was practically _sparkling_ , and Abe suddenly remembered back when he was thrown into Mihashi’s R.A.B.I.T.s with terrifying constancy, remembered how Mihashi’s greatest wish was to be in a Jaeger because it meant he _existed_ and people would have to _know_ it. He _wanted_ that recognition, wanted people to _see_ him. 

“Yeah, sure, we’ll do it,” he said to Momoe, and Mihashi started vibrating with excitement next to him. Abe swallowed down his irritation, knowing that the reporters were going to ask all kind of irrelevant, probing questions that had no business being asked, but also knowing that for Mihashi’s sake, he was going to sit there and smile beautifully through the interview as best as he could. 

Momoe clapped her hands in approval. “I’ll have Shinooka call and confirm the interview, then!” she said, before she looked to Mihashi and held up a finger. “Now, you have to be careful. This kind of fame comes with a price. Make sure you’re ready for it!” Yep, Abe thought, knowing exactly what she was talking about. Judging from Mihashi’s slightly confused expression, he didn’t, so Abe sighed and resolved to talk to him about it later. “Anyway, good job today, you two! Go get some rest. I understand you’re only allowed one Drift per day, so no more Drifting!”

“Ma’am!” Abe acknowledged, Mihashi doing the same next to him, and Momoe left, Ai right at her heels where Abe hadn’t even noticed she was sitting. He watched the both of them leave, then sighed out, looking to where Izumi seemed to be back to tearing his hair out at their numbers. Remembering that he wanted to talk to Izumi about Nishihiro, Abe called out, “Hey, Izumi, you wanna grab some lunch later?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, see you in the cafeteria,” he responded, waving the two of them off without even looking away from the computer screen. Abe decided not to take offense, knowing he’d probably do the same thing if he was trying to concentrate on something that even the Marshal had agreed was important enough to focus on. With a two-fingered salute to Hamada, he turned, leading Mihashi towards the elevator down to their room since it was too early to eat.

“What… What did Marshal mean, when she said…?” Mihashi asked once they were in the elevator alone, and Abe sighed, pushing the button for their floor and watching as the doors closed behind them.

“When you become famous, people want to know everything about you,” he explained. “What’s your favorite color, what were you thinking in this moment, why did you do this instead of that, what did this expression on your face mean - you lose ownership of yourself, a bit. Fame like that means becoming the property of the people who made you famous.”

Mihashi fell silent for a moment, staring at their reflections in the metal of the elevator doors before he shifted and tangled his fingers together. “We don’t… have to be like, celebrities, though… right?”

“We kind of will be,” Abe said, stepping forward when the doors opened. “Jaeger pilots are the rockstars of the world. We’re the ones with the face of the machines saving the world. There are going to be expectations.” Abe unlocked their door and stepped inside, turning on the light and toeing off his shoes. “Though, well, we don’t have to be as public as say, Tajima and Hanai. We can keep a little bit of privacy if we’re careful.”

Mihashi looked at him quizzically, so Abe grabbed a glass of water and shrugged. “Like, if we’re dating someone, or who our friends are. That’s nobody’s business but your own, if you want it to be.”

Somehow, Abe felt a peculiar wave of embarrassment slither up his spine, and the room around the two of them felt small and very, painfully loud. He sipped at his water to give himself something to do, Mihashi’s voice coming softly, “Oh.” Then, “I see.”

Abe leaned against the counter of their kitchenette, watching Mihashi’s face carefully despite the fact that he could feel an uncomfortable warmth in his cheeks. “So, before we do this interview, we should talk and decide the things that we don’t want to talk about. If we’re on the same page about our privacy, it won’t be a problem.”

“Things… we don’t want to…?” Mihashi repeated, and Abe nodded.

“Yeah. What things would you not want to show up in a tabloid?” he said, rephrasing it since it seemed Mihashi was still having a little bit of trouble grasping exactly what was at stake.

At that, Mihashi’s mouth gaped open, almost pulling into a diamond shape. “O-Oh, you mean - like those magazines at the grocery store?” he asked, and Abe nodded. “I - I guess, like you said, d… dating,” Mihashi answered, voice dropping off to nearly nothing at the end. “Do… Do people really?”

“Want to know that?” Abe asked, and Mihashi nodded. Abe couldn’t help the scoff of laughter that passed his lips. “Oh man, that was like, pretty much the only thing people wanted to know about Haruna when they’d interview me before. He even had this fanclub website, apparently, and they’d send someone out to Musashino all the time to try and get an interview with him. It was the worst.” 

“H-Haruna-san has a fanclub?!” Mihashi said, and Abe rolled his eyes as he pushed off of the counter. Of course _that_ would be what Mihashi would focus on. “I - I guess, I mean, I’ll just… follow Abe-kun’s lead,” Mihashi said, going towards the couch and sitting next to where Abe plopped down with a groan. He hadn’t known how much he’d needed to sit down until his ass molded into the fabric of the couch, but he was one hundred percent sure now that he wasn’t going to be moving until lunch time.

There was a breath of silence in the room again, still sort of awkward, but then a thought suddenly struck Abe. He glanced to Mihashi, unable to hide the delighted grin that crossed his face. “This is it, you know.” Mihashi looked at him, confused, until Abe finished. “We’re Jaeger pilots. We did it.”

Mihashi blinked once, then twice, and then his lips pulled into a wide grin that was a tiny sun in their room. “Yeah, we did it,” he said. Then, his face relaxed a bit, still so warm and private, his own grin dying down into a more contended smile and his eyes crinkling just a bit at the corners. “Thank you, Abe-kun,” he said, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against Abe’s. Abe swallowed thickly, eyes wide and staring at the way Mihashi was completely open in that moment, before he closed his own eyes, moist with tears he didn’t completely understand and stomach soaring on the wings of some unnamed wind.

After a moment of that, Mihashi pulled back, snatching the remote off the arm of the couch and turning on their television. He flicked through until he found the sports channel, making a delighted sound when there was a baseball game going on. It was a home game for the Seibu Lions, the Hawks visiting and so far sucking wind in the third inning.

“O-Oh, it’s - !” Mihashi gasped when the pitcher showed up on the screen. “M-Miyamori-san!” 

“You know him?” Abe asked, remembering the pitcher from the last game he’d caught. Mihashi looked at him as if he’d said something completely scandalous.

“Not, not _personally_ , but - !” his eyes locked on every pitch the grumpy-faced pitcher threw out, and Abe had to admit, he was still massively impressed at what he saw. 

“He kind of pitches like you,” Abe said, and an incredulous squawk met his comment. He looked to see Mihashi now looking _completely_ scandalized, and he couldn’t help the scowl that tilted his lips. “Sure. Get you trained up and a few years of hard practice? You’d get batters out like that all the time.”

“N, No…”

“Do you have _any_ idea how good you are?” Abe asked, suddenly realizing that, dear god, maybe Mihashi _didn’t_ know. “You can locate the ball in ways _pros_ can’t. You know that, right?”

“That’s, that’s not,” Mihashi started, wiggling uncomfortably on the couch under Abe’s praise, and Abe boggled, staring at his copilot in delirious shock. _He didn’t know_. 

He fought the urge to tell Mihashi a thought he’d had once before, that he should be on a baseball diamond and not here at Abe’s side, partially because, well, he was _here_ , not on a baseball diamond, and there was really nothing to be gained by talking about the what-ifs of Nishiura high school. But also, Abe thought, hand coming to rub at an uncomfortable weight in his chest… he didn’t want to think about it. Sitting here, someone else at his side, watching Mihashi on the television pitching to some other catcher who wasn’t Abe, never knowing that he could have had _this._

_…_ Whatever _this_ was, he thought, amusement tickling through him as he watched Mihashi puff out delighted breaths of air every time Miyamori struck out another batter. He sat there, watching Mihashi for a moment longer before pulling his attention back to the game, until his phone rang. He glanced down at the screen and saw Shinooka’s name, so he swiped to answer, holding the phone up to his face.

“Hello?” he answered, and Shinooka’s voice came across, a little muffled as though she was cradling the phone in the crook of her neck and shoulder while she was talking.

“Hello, Abe-kun! I got the interview for you and Mihashi-kun scheduled for tomorrow morning at ten. There’s going to be a small photoshoot afterwards, so make sure to dress in your formal suits.”

“Should we bring our jackets, too?” Abe asked, remembering one shoot he’d had scheduled for Haruna with their jackets before - well, before he hadn’t been the owner of that jacket anymore.

Shinooka hummed, audibly tapping a pen against something before she sighed. “Bring them just in case, I guess. They didn’t request them, but you never know.”

“Who is it?”

“Vogue,” Shinooka answered, and Abe let out a loose breath. Well. So much for starting with the small publications. Also, he _really_ doubted there’d be a _small_ photoshoot at the end. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Plus they’ll make you look _really_ good.”

“Sounds good,” he said, lowering the phone when he hung up. Mihashi looked at him questioningly, and he sighed.

“Our interview is tomorrow at ten. Dress wearing a suit because they’re gonna want to take pictures.”

“Who…?”

“…Vogue.” Mihashi’s death rattle choke was about what Abe was feeling, himself. Then again, he thought with a sigh, he was in a completely different position now. He was no longer just the average pilot of 144 Sprinter. He was one of the pilots of the brand new Mark IV line, testing out humanity’s next best defense against apocalypse. It was only natural that there would be bigger fish looking to get a bite of him now that he was bigger bait.

They settled back into the couch after that and watched through the sixth inning until it was lunch time, Mihashi reluctantly dragging away from the television and only for the promise of food. Abe followed behind, locking their door and pulling out his phone to shoot a text to Izumi _don’t forget lunch._

_as if loser_ , came the response, and Abe scoffed, putting his phone back into his pocket before he did something stupid like text Izumi back and encourage that kind of behavior. Mihashi pushed the buttons for the elevator, and they made their way to the cafeteria, flashing their identification and grabbing what appeared to be some kind of chicken lasagna next to pea salad. 

As promised, Izumi was sitting at a table waiting for them, Tajima sitting next to him and making some serious goo goo eyes at Izumi’s brownie. Abe placed his tray in front of Izumi, taking his seat and sighing out. He glanced at Izumi, who chewed a bite of food while staring blankly at him and then slowly raising an eyebrow. “What?” he asked, and Abe grabbed his fork.

“Nothing. You holding up okay?” he asked, and Izumi shrugged. 

“As well as is to be expected, I suppose. Nishihiro’s been, like, _disgustingly_ helpful. He’s into stuff like meditation and tea, though I guess it’s helping. I don’t feel like taking a running leap off the side of the base into the ocean anymore, so.”

Abe glanced at Mihashi, who had also looked at him in the same moment. He took a moment to wonder just how much he should take seriously, but the thought was interrupted by Tajima’s dramatic gasp.

“Gosh, you two are _really_ compatible,” he said. “That was _so cool!_ You were just like - _bam!_ Eyes locked!” Abe rolled his eyes, glancing down at his food as he took a bite. “Oh, Mihashi, I heard you were getting an interview with Vogue tomorrow! They’ll make your butt look _amazing_!”

Mihashi looked up and babbled out something absolutely incoherent, but Tajima seemed to get the gist of it as he nodded and then laughed. “Of _course_ they will,” he said, and Mihashi glittered from… whatever it was. Abe watched in abject horror, then took another bite of food before looking back to Izumi. 

“Anyway. I had a favor to ask of you,” he said, and Izumi made a questioning sound as he opened his brownie to take a huge bite. Tajima’s whole face wilted. “We can only Drift once a day, so we’re having trouble deciding when we should go to the Simulator. Is there any kind of data of when the Kaiju attack so we can plan this better?”

Izumi stuck an elbow in Tajima’s face, glancing off into the distance as he took another bite of brownie. “Yeah, I guess I can ask Nishihiro and see if he has that information, since that’s kind of what he’s paid to know. No promises, though. I’m pretty sure he needs the tea and meditation for stress more than I do, honestly.”

Tajima, who seemed to have given up on Izumi’s brownie, turned to Mihashi with huge eyes. “Hey, hey! Mihashi! You should get a Twitter account now that you’re going to be famous! You too, Abe!”

“Hell no,” Abe said, while Mihashi looked at Tajima as if he’d just been given permission to go wild at an all you could eat buffet.

“Twitter?” Mihashi parroted, and Tajima nodded, dancing around the table to sit next to Mihashi and grabbing his phone.

“Yeah, it’ll be awesome! I’ll be your first follower! Let’s see… What do you want your handle to be?” Mihashi mumbled something Abe’s ears couldn’t catch, and Tajima typed something in before shaking his head. “No, that one’s taken… How about… @mihashi_ren? Or something like… @BWren, or @pitcherren?”

“P-Pitcher!” Mihashi said, leaning in close to Tajima to watch him put it in. So much for keeping a private life, Abe thought, despairing slightly.

Izumi jumped suddenly, reaching down into his pocket to fish out a vibrating phone. Abe watched as he glanced down at it with a frown, putting it up to his ear while putting the straw to his water in his mouth. “Hey, what’s up? You okay?” Abe watched Izumi’s face smooth out carefully, blue eyes darting to meet his own before they fell to the table. “Yeah, sure thing. I’ll be right there.” He hung up, then put his phone back into his pocket and chugged the rest of his water.

“Everything okay?” Abe asked, and Izumi made a distracted sound of agreement as he organized his tray and stood up.

“Yeah, just - Nishihiro needs a favor. I’ll make sure to ask him about the Kaiju times and I’ll text you what he says,” Izumi said.

“Thanks,” Abe said, watching as Izumi slipped off to discard his trash, leaving his tray before slipping off towards the elevators with his hands in his pockets and wondering what, exactly, had been so pressing as to cut Izumi’s lunch short.

 

\----------

 

Izumi knocked twice before reaching down to twist the doorknob to Nishihiro’s office open, pushing inside to see Nishihiro himself standing in front of his chalk board with stiff shoulders. At the sound of the door opening, Nishihiro turned around, face pulled tight and phone still clutched tightly in his hands.

“Wow, you need to drink more tea,” Izumi drawled, stepping forward and earning a single huff of laughter for his nonchalance. He stopped short of Nishihiro, taking in the way he was dancing from foot to foot slightly and deciding to spare him. “So, what’s the super crazy favor you were talking about?”

“This - Look, it’s. It’s huge. I understand if you say no - ” Nishihiro started, but Izumi cut him off by waving a hand between them.

“Cut the shit and just tell me what it is, Nishi,” he said. Nishihiro fidgeted a bit longer, and then he took in a deep breath, eyes locked with Izumi’s and face deadly serious.

“I need all the technical info for the PPDC bases.”

Silence filled the office between them, broken only by the way the air conditioner kicked in after a few seconds.

“Sweetheart, that’s so illegal I feel like I got a felony just hearing you _ask_ ,” Izumi said. Nishihiro started wringing his hands together, shoulders hunching a bit.

“I, I know. I’ll take full responsibility if you get caught.”

Izumi stared at him a moment longer, then sighed, forcing a smirk onto his face. “I don’t _get_ caught,” he said. Nishihiro exhaled himself seemingly for the first time since Izumi had stepped in, maybe for the first time since he’d made the call. Izumi watched him, obviously distressed at having to put a friend in danger, and that - that pulled at something in him, the thought that after so long, someone was watching over _him._

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t vital,” Nishihiro whispered. “The last thing I want is for you to get in trouble.” and Izumi nodded, reaching out, entranced, a bit, to tangle his fingers in Nishihiro’s shirt.

“I know,” he said, tugging. Nishihiro, the bastard, was just a little taller than him, and his pretty face wasn’t suited for the expression he was making now, all twisted up with worry and guilt. His tug caused Nishihiro to startle, taking a step forward so he didn’t fall, eyes wide and locked onto Izumi’s face for a completely different reason, now.

“Izumi,” he breathed, and Izumi closed his eyes at the way he could feel his name washing over his face. He needed… he needed something a little more, though, wanted something a little better for a favor this big. 

“Kousuke,” he corrected, opening his eyes and glancing up at Nishihiro. He knew he was looking through his eyelashes, hoped he didn’t look as fucking stupid as he felt. The wounded noise that came out of Nishihiro’s mouth, however, told him he was just fine. 

“Kou…suke,” Nishihiro amended, and it was Izumi’s turn to bite his teeth into his lower lip to keep the sound inside. He wanted to close his eyes, memorize what it had looked like to see Nishihiro’s mouth curl around his name, _his_ name, wanted to lean in and see if he could taste that sugar-sweet coffee on his tongue, wanted to throw himself into Nishihiro and claw a way into his space until they were the same. He’d never been jealous of Jaeger pilots before, but standing here, eyes locked on Nishihiro’s lips and his mouth _watering_ , he was dying, _dying_ to just - crawl into Nishihiro and never come out.

“Are, are you - ” Nishihiro gasped, hands reaching up to clutch at Izumi, one tangled in his shirt at his side, the other reaching up to cup at his throat, fingers blazingly hot on Izumi’s throat and making him want to scream for how good it felt to finally, _finally_ have hands on him. “Can I - ”

“If you don’t, I swear to god,” Izumi bit out, eyes falling shut and brows furrowing as he tilted his head up. Nishihiro closed the gap between them, the kiss so fucking gentle it broke something in Izumi to have that kind of cherished feeling. He felt like glass, so close to breaking and crystal fucking clear, like Nishihiro had ripped everything off and seen right through him. He drank the feeling, tilted his head to slant his head further, let his fingers trace those godly cheekbones and tangle into perfect, silky hair. “Shin, fuck,” he groaned, the fingers in Nishihiro’s shirt tangling tighter as his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. Nishihiro sobbed out a sound, arching closer - 

Izumi jerked back as lightning pain ran up through his wrist, cradling it to his chest even as Nishihiro jumped, lips wet and face fiery red. “O-Oh, I’m, I’m sorry, I forgot - ” He slammed his mouth shut, back of his hand coming to his mouth as he looked to the side and blushed an even darker red. “I, I…”

Izumi opened his eyes, tears of pain still pricking at the corner before he exhaled a jagged breath and shook his head. “No, it’s fine,” he said, slowly uncurling himself from where he’d curled around his injured hand in a defensive motion. He glanced down at the brace, a sudden, familiar, _sick_ feeling wrapping around his gut in a knot and staying there. He swallowed around it, licking his lips and closing his eyes in a different kind of pain when he realized they were just a little too sweet. “Abe - Abe wanted to know, if there was a pattern in time the Kaiju were coming,” he said, feeling too hot in his own skin and needing to find a place to put his feet before he fell on his face.

“O-oh, yeah, I can, um, I can look into that,” Nishihiro said, taking a step back and still seeming to try and remember how to breathe. He glanced up at Izumi once, then away again, face flaring up red once more, hand finally lowering and revealing pink lips a little bruised from kissing. Izumi’s stomach coiled, and he looked away, gritting his teeth and desperately trying to claw his too-cool facade back into place.

“Yeah, so, I’ll take a peek and see what I can get you about that other thing,” he said, cursing the fact that his voice was wobbly even to his own voice. He couldn’t fucking help it, though, and although he took one step towards the door, he stopped, wrist throbbing and heart in his throat. “Thanks… Shin.”

He turned around, and Nishihiro’s eyes were wide, face open and just so _goddamned_ beautiful, Izumi’s fingers tightened on the doorknob to keep him from turning all the way around and smothering himself in it all over again. Then, an embarrassed laugh Izumi hoarded into the dark space in his mind, and, “No problem, Kousuke,” smooth as that, like his cheeks weren’t all pink and perfect.

“Y-yeah,” he said, finally leaving to stand in the hallway, the perfectly white hallway, holding his aching wrist to his chest and putting one lead-foot step in front of the other.

 

 


End file.
